


can we really call you human i mean

by waywardflower



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Coming Out, Domestic Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Flashbacks, Friendship, Human!Squip - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Panic Attacks, Pining Michael, Rating May Change, Self Harm, Sex is Mentioned but Not Explicitly Described, Shitty memes, Synesthetic!Christine, buckle up kiddos, human squip is a piece of garbage, let me know if more tags should be added, please if any of these tags scare you proceed with EXTREME caution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-01-04 19:37:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12175320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardflower/pseuds/waywardflower
Summary: “Jeremy, if you stay by me, everything about you can be wonderful. You don’t have to feel left out or unsure. You can,” and he’s been whispering, but here he pauses to smile, “be more chill.”Human!Squip AU where the Squip is an abusive prick, and Jeremy puts up with him for far too long. Bad times ensue, until Jeremy hits rock bottom and needs help to dig himself out.





	1. are you a banana grenade because i want you to blow in my ass...

**Author's Note:**

> Okay when I use these tags I am NOT JOKING AROUND.  
> I will also let you know in the chapters what you need to watch out for.  
> The first chapter is light, but it gets heavy after the beginning.  
> Please, for the love of fanfiction, be safe.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and other things Michael has almost said to Jeremy seriously.

"Dude, she's just so amazing. She's enthusiastic, she's passionate... The way her face lights up when she sings? When she talks about theater, and- and bagels, and  _ everything _ . It's unbelievable, she's just so... Christine. She's so alive," gushes Jeremy, and then more quietly, "I wish... I wish I could be the kind of person she felt like that about."

Michael hums in response, fingers working overtime to manipulate the controller. Level one of their go-to-game Apocalypse of the Damned is all muscle memory at this point. It’s barely a distraction to the dull, empty thing Michael feels watching Jeremy light up for someone else.

Yeah, Michael can relate. Watching Jeremy get so worked up over Christine, it tugs at what Michael wants most. But this Player 2 knows all the rules to being the best backup, and none of them say 'hit on your best friend,' 'eliminate the competition,' or even 'complain about how much you've heard about this girl you can never be.' Four years into the pining business, Michael knows how to nod and hum, and even praise if Jeremy asks him what he thinks of Christine, which doesn't happen often, thank fuck.

There’s a pause, while Player 1 has to navigate a particularly difficult timing-based set of traps. It’s not silent, though–Jeremy hisses and grunts in time with careful jumping and crowbar swinging. He's so physical, jolting and jerking as though if he uses his whole body he can yank his character out of harm’s way. After a few minutes of strangled yelps, the other boy starts talking again.

“I… signed up for the school play,” says Jeremy.  _ Yeah, I noticed _ , Michael is tempted to say, but there’s something so soft and bewildered in the other boy’s tone that he can’t make the words come out. Sure, Jeremy’s been gushing about the play for the past few hours, but it probably still hasn’t quite sunk in yet. Jeremy is like that. Michael pauses the game, turning his head. Jeremy. Staring ahead, looking… lost. Oh no.

“Hey,” starts Michael, reaching one nervous, sweaty hand over to Jeremy’s knee, “That was really brave. It’s going to be great, you’re going to have so much fun. I’m excited for you,” and it’s not a lie, it really isn’t. Michael is so proud, and he knows that theater will probably be great for Jeremy. He remembers how the other boy used to be, so excited to perform and produce in their elementary school shows. Even stuttering and sweating backstage Jeremy loved the lights and the idea of being someone else. It’s just. The usual. Gosh, why can’t he just be a good friend and be excited for him?

Jeremy’s eyes slide over to Michael’s hand, which then makes a hasty retreat. But the corners of his mouth still tug up in appreciation, and his voice lilts gratefully. “Thanks, man.”

They lapse back into the more comfortable rhythm of the game: howls, shouts, and furious toggling, ignoring the outside world in their frenzy until–

“Level nine!”

“The Cafetorium!”

“Finally! Watch-  _ frack! _ Gah!”

“I thought we were going to do a quick run through! What happened to getting the lay of the land?”   


“I can’t do that if you die in the first  _ ten seconds _ !”

A quick shoving match ensues, but even while jostled Michael rescues his Player 1 from the corner he’d backed into, retaking the lead. Grinning smugly at Jeremy, he lets a door fall shut in front of the other boy’s avatar. There’s pointless punching of the wall on Jeremy’s side, and cruel, mocking victory dances on Michael’s, but finally Michael pushes the button long enough for Jeremy’s character to roll through. 

“This way, c’mon dude! Hurry up!”   


“Lame dude, you can’t leave your brother behi– _shitshitshit_ Mika, I’m going to _die,_ _help me._ ”

“Pshh. What a noob.” Michael studiously ignores this plea, continuing on instead to the next room without even checking the perimeter.

“Wait, no! Don’t go it’s a tra–Michael.” Player 2 is viciously slaughtered, dropped into a pit of zombies. His avatar screams in pain, the zombies moan in appreciation at their tribute, and Jeremy laughs. Michael’s poor gay heart skips a beat. Jeremy looks at him, eyes like brownies (which is to say, warm and sweet) shining in amusement. “What was that you were saying again? Oh, wait, I remember. What a n–”   


“Bla bla bla I can’t hear you, oh  _ look _ the level restarted and you’re getting your ass kicked. Oh well, I’m too busy checking out this cool puzzle,” Michael fires back, struggling to breathe and keep his face neutral. Hm, brownies. Tack that into the list of really gay pickup lines he'll never get to use on Jeremy. He stifles a sigh.

“ _ Michael _ ,” Jeremy says warningly, and that voice does  _ things _ to him. Still, he fights off the last of Jeremy’s attackers and returns to his puzzle (but not until after body slamming Jeremy’s character into the ground and being chased around the level for a bit).

“Dude, at this rate we’ll never beat the time limit,” whines Player 1, shifting around in his beanbag. The beans inside make an awful squeaking noise when he moves on top of them, so Michael gives him a look. Jeremy rolls his eyes, but stops, so he graciously forgives him.

“Enough bitchin,” Michael orders, while his character brandishes a massive, bloodied, butcher knife, “In my kitchen.”

“Oops,” says Jeremy, not looking remorseful at all as his character whacks Michael’s on the head with a flaming radioactive banana. Player 2’s avatar catches fire. Michael tries opening the fridge in search of… something, when he notices the banana in Player 1’s hand start blinking black and white.

“Wait, Jere,” he tries to warn him, but…

The banana explodes.

_ Game Over _ , reads the screen. What the hell.

“What the hell,” Jeremy echoes.

“It’s an effed up world,” startsMichael, grinning widely.

“But it’s a two player game!” Jeremy finishes the inside joke, pressing restart.

As they work their way back to the banana grenades, Jeremy tells his best friend more about his day. The encounter with Rich in the bathroom starts off concerning, with Jeremy getting caught washing off his book bag. It quickly escalates.

“He told you to do  _ what? _ ”

“He said, if I bought the drug, Squip, I’d be popular. Not like, use it myself. But you know Rich is dating that girl, Sachi, she and that other kid, Lucifer or something, moved in this fall. He and her are really close, and they’re hooked on the same stuff. If I bring it to him, he’ll…” the other teen’s voice quiets, chin dropping, “He’ll owe me. He’ll make me cool.” There’s a pause, as both players try to digest the new game changer. Jeremy idly picks up a banana grenade, chucking it at a wall they’re pretty sure is a secret passage, and it opens. Michael whistles in congratulations.

“So… what do you think?”   


“He’s scamming you. He’s scamming you  _ super weirdly _ .”

“Alright, but what if he’s not? This could be  _ huge _ ! All I’d have to do is… give the guy… who torments me… six hu-undred. Y’know what, yeah, he’s totally scamming me,” realizes Jeremy.

Michael laughs a little sardonically. They explore the secret passage, it’s pretty cool, but dark. All of a sudden, zombies come pouring out of the walls. They die instantly. Both boys frown.

“Wow. Letdown much?” cracks Michael, but Jeremy is still stuck on Squip.

“I’m doomed to be a loser until the end of the world. And probably after that, too,” sighs Player 1, defeated.

“Whoa! No  _ way! _ ” Best Friend Mode freakin’  _ activated, _ Jeremy. He’s gotta pause the game. “Dude you are cooler than a vintage cassette. It's just that no one else understands that. Nobody here appreciates us, but soon we'll be together where they do: college.”

“What.” The discouraged, stripy shirted boy’s voice is flat, but he’s listening. His whole body is turned toward Michael, the controls in his lap. It’s like a spotlight on his face, and Michael doesn’t know whether to bask or freak under the attention.

“Dude, don’t you know? Guys like us are cool in college.”

“High school is literally hell, Michael. This doesn’t really help.”

“Still, you gotta admit. We navigate it pretty well together,” Michael nudges Jeremy, elbowing a smile out of the other dude, but his face falls again.

“It’s just, it feels like… Okay, don’t make fun of me. This is the way I think about it. It feels like we're stuck on a level right now, and I– I just wanna move on.” Jeremy’s voice is sullen, and a rush of  _ Iwoulddoanythingforyoupleasebeokay _ steals Michael’s breath for a moment. He searches for a helpful, chill, heterosexual response.

“Hey man, just hang on two more years. We can do it, together.”

“I know,” he grumbles, unconvinced and immovable yet. Michael would work on this another time. They close up the level for the day, stopping for pizza in the Heere Kitchen. Jeremy’s dad ordered it, but he had retreated upstairs once Jeremy realized he was pantsless.

“How’s he doing?” Michael asks, under the empty humming of the microwave.

“How does he look?” Jeremy nearly spits. When Mrs. Heere left, Jeremy had been… not a mess. It was one of the things that Michael was still concerned about. It never really seemed to hit Jeremy in the way everyone expected–no breakdowns. He worried that it just hadn't processed yet.

“You heard from her?”

A pause, then “No. I mean, like. Mom moved on, why can’t he? Who cares?”

“Hey!” interjected Michael.

“I don’t want that to be my future. Hey, Rich said that his hookup is at Payless. What if we went there ourselves? Just to see if his story checks out!” The ending is rushed, unsure, and the change of topic is disorienting.

“And if it does? Will you be too cool for… video games?” Jeremy seems to know what he means even if he’s too scared of his feelings to say it.

“What? Dude. You know you’re my favorite person, right? I just, I still dream,” says Jeremy, looking straight into Michael’s eyes for the first time that evening.

“Is it really true, I'm your favowite pewson?” Michael jokes, struggling to breathe under the weight of Jeremy’s gaze, Jeremy’s words, Jeremy’s love.

“Of course dude, we're never not gonna be a team!” reassures Jeremy.

That’s how he decides it. If Jeremy really wants this, Michael will support him all the way. Besides, he can’t leave his Player 1 to buy drugs from a stranger alone. Somebody has to watch Jeremy’s back, and Michael always wants to be that person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... heavy Michael pining is ALWAYS a good way to start. Besides, where would Jeremy be without his Player Two?
> 
> tag urself im michael lmaoooo
> 
> Get ready kids.


	2. 'drugs not hugs' said the fates, in the middle of writing jeremy heere's "early life" page on wikipedia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "jeremy w h y " -michael mell, during the whole last hour of this chapter.

_ Payless has never been so daunting. _ Jeremy shoots Michael a quick glance to see if he’s as terrified–Michael looks pretty chill, cool as the slushie in his hand and as relaxed as the headphones resting comfortably around his neck. Okay, so Jeremy’s overreacting, probably. Well, Michael’s whole future isn’t on the line right now, so maybe Jeremy isn’t overreacting.

_ Fuck, _ Jeremy thinks, and steps forward.

The guy behind the counter sits up as they walk in, slouchy and underdressed.

“I uh… I like your sideburns,” tries Jeremy. “Wolverine, right?”

The look that Michael gives him does not help, and they have a fast, furiously whispered conversation that conveys nothing but how unimpressed Michael is with Jeremy’s tactics.

Equally unimpressed, the shopkeeper rasps. “Let’s see the money.”

“What?”

Eyes are rolled, and Jeremy wants to melt into the floor.

“You know. It’s from Japan. It’s a grey oblong pill. The good stuff. It makes life worth living.”

“How did you know why I’m here?” Jeremy shudders as the employee’s judgemental gaze rakes across him. The other guy snickers, and Jeremy hates it, hates everything everyone can see about him. He never gets a verbal answer, but the action alone speaks.

“Is that the four hundred?” Gaze hungry, the salesman reaches out for the wad of cash Jeremy clenches.

“Four?” He and Michael exchange a glance.

“Is that a problem?” the guy asks, wary.

“No! I mean, there’s this guy at my school who said, uh–” Michael mouths,  _ stop _ , “four hundred! But yes, if you insist!” He quickly switches out some bills when the guy walks them to the back of the store.

He gestures to a box.  _ Running shoes, _ his brain notes, unhelpfully. Running shoes? Why?  _ Oh.  _ The Squip is  _ inside _ . Lag between his brain and reality is never not embarrassing.

“Just so we’re clear, this is untested technology, and it’s not exactly legal, which is why you’re paying for it with cash, at the back of the shoe store,” and the guy’s laugh is ominous enough that the teen almost rethinks buying. “I take no legal responsibility for what you might do with it,” another, somehow more ominous laugh, “or for what  _ it _ might do with  _ you." _   


“What might it do with me?” Jeremy wonders aloud, cut off by the salesman’s shout.

“To activate! Take it with Mountain Dew–I don’t know why! Just. Something about Mountain Dew, and this is important– _ We’re sold out! _ ” he shrieks at a confused Jenna Rolan.

“Of shoes?” Jenna looks around at the towers of shoes, then back.

“Oh! Oh, you’re here for shoes. Yeah, my bad,” the seller wanders distractedly off, before Jeremy catches his sleeve.

“W-w-wait! You were saying something... important!”   


“Oh, yeah. All sales final.” And with that, Jeremy holds what is apparently the last supply of Squip available in the mall.

Michael and Jeremy stare at each other for an eternity.

“Four hundred dollars,” Jeremy repeats, dazed. It had happened too fast. “We should- we should split it. You helped me get it, we should both benefit, right?”

Michael gives him an apprehensive look. “I’m good, dude. Besides, I like to think that when you’re cool, you’ll owe me.”

“Alright,” says Jeremy, unsure. “I’m going to get some chili fries, do you wanna-?”

“Yeah bro, just give me five minutes. I have to go pick something up!”

“Wait, where are you going?”

“This guy at Spencer’s Gifts is hooking me up with a case of Crystal Pepsi! It’s like regular Pepsi, but clear!”

Fondly, Jeremy rolls his eyes. “Have fun, dude.” Michael dashes off, leaving Jeremy alone in a sea of people he’ll never be worthy of.

While Jeremy stands in line for his chili fries, he overhears… is that Christine?

_ Christine.  _ Flutes trill, a halo descends, he smells the sweet shimmer of happiness, and then he sees Jake. Christine and  _ Jake _ . Alone at the mall. Talking animatedly, and Jake puts his arm around her and she looks really,  _ really _ happy. She’s flattered by his attention. She’s excited. Jeremy realizes, in that moment, that there’s nothing he can do. There’s nothing he could ever do to make Christine Canigula look at him like that. He will never be  _ that guy _ for Christine, even Squip couldn’t help him outdo Jake.

His stomach plummets. He stands at the chili counter, and in the calmest, smoothest voice he’s ever used to order food from another human being, asks for The Locked and Loaded. Chili counter guy’s jaw drops. The line behind Jeremy hushes.

“The-the Locked and Loaded?” 

Jeremy nods. The Locked and Loaded is a platter from the secret menu at the mall’s Shack, already the uncoolest joint in town–a greasy, burnt-out spot for equally greasy, burnt-out losers. It's a legend, the sad story told in locker rooms, a meal probably intended for at least five large seventeen year old boys, a plate that spans the whole width of the tables at The Shack. He’s really only heard of it in hushed tones. Michael told him about it once, some poor robotics freak who’d lost the will to go on had ordered it and then was never seen again. Even the school gossip (he’s pretty sure her name is like, Jennifer or something) whispered when she told Chloe about a girl they’d bullied, who’d ordered it in a desperate moment and was pulled out of school after. It’s loaded with grease and shame, locked with calories and social suicide.

Counter guy takes his face in, sees the hope gone from Jeremy’s dead brown eyes. He seems to know what’s going on, and he takes a deep breath.

“Dude, whatever you’re going through… This isn’t going to help. The Locked and Loaded… it changes you. You’re alone. You can’t handle this right now. Just… Just put your wallet back. Go get something from Pinkberry. Don’t… Don’t do this,” Chili counter guy tells him, like the light hasn’t already drained from his life. What had Michael said? There’s never been a better time in history to be a loser. Jeremy’s got little to live for, his social status may as well take a trip down the drain.

“Bring it to me,” Jeremy says, and the silent crowd takes a step back.

All of Jeremy’s melodrama is put on pause when a crash fills the mall. There’s stomping, shouting, and a man glides out of Payless. Jeremy is considered tall, this guy has him beat by a good four inches. Stalking swiftly away from the now quivering salesman who’d given Jeremy the Squip, he looks up, and for a second Jeremy sees a weird, almost unnatural blue in his eyes, and then he walks out of the weird lighting and Jeremy realizes that not only are his eyes pretty, he’s pissed. He’s pissed, and he’s walking straight toward Jeremy.

The startled teen does a sweep of the area around him–nope, there’s nobody else he could be slinking toward, everyone had backed off once he’d started ordering at the counter. Murder is in the approaching guy’s eyes, however, and Jeremy’s instincts are telling him to run. He turns, stammering something to the guy at the counter, who looks like he doesn’t know whether to let him go or call the cops. 

Speed-walking away, Jeremy hopes in vain that the heavy footsteps behind him aren’t the guy from Payless. He’s just about made it to the Spencer’s Gifts he knows Michael is in when he slams into Jake Dillinger’s shoulder. Jeremy literally falls flat on his ass.

“Jeremy! I didn’t see you there,” notices Christine.

“Whoa! Sorry man, you’re kind of hard to notice.”  _ Okay Jake, harsh. _

In surges that desperate sadness again, and Jeremy completely forgets about the maniac that’s been chasing him until a hand clamps down on his shoulder and he freezes.

“ _ Jeremy _ , there you are,” and the guy’s voice is like motor oil, “I thought I saw you. Come on, let’s talk.”

“Oh hey, Seyton. Didn’t see you earlier! How’s it going, man?” Jake asks, exchanging a friendly fistbump with his arm around Christine.

That’s when it hits him.  _ This is the guy Rich was talking about. _ Not Lucifer, but  _ Seyton _ is standing right behind him, and Jeremy has the Squip. The key to his success has his hand clenched in his sweater in a way that means business. He must make a small noise or something, because Christine looks at him worriedly.

“Jeremy? Is everything–?”   


“He’s fine, we just need to have a little chat. I’m sure you two are busy, don’t let us keep you. Be safe!” laughs Seyton Quick, the most popular guy in school, waving off Christine’s concern.

Jeremy watches them go, sees Christine’s furrowed brow smooth out after a low murmur from Jake, and then he’s dragged away from safety, out of the public’s eye, and turned to face the other guy. The eye contact between them is even more intense up close, and he loses his breath.

“You… look like Keanu Reeves,” stammers Jeremy, and instantly regrets it. Quick ignores him.

“So, Jeremy. You have something of mine. I’d like it back,” growls the taller boy, and Jeremy shivers. _Fuck._ _That went straight to his–_ Seyton definitely notices, as he smirks and takes a step back.

Jeremy tries to remind himself what he had planned. “I-I do have something of yours. And I’ll give it back, freely, but first I’d like to make a trade.”

Seyton’s eyes are half lidded when he drawls, “It’s not exactly free if I have to trade. And you know I could just take it from you, if I had to. Why not just hand it over?”

“Y-you could. But this trade has nothing to do with money, it’s- it’s almost effortless for... a guy like you.”  _ A guy like you, who picked up the hottest girl in school on the first day. Who transferred in with credits better than even  _ Michael’s _. Who has every want made available by crowds all too willing to please him. _

Blue eyes narrowed, Seyton waves his hand a little. “What do you want?”   


“I want… I want to-” Jeremy takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and spits it out. “I want to be more chill.” Fuck, that’s not what he meant! “I want to be popular.”

The taller boy takes another step back and eyes him up and down. “Hmph. For a loser like you it’s going to take a lot more effort than I’d usually put in, but I’ll take it. You have…  _ potential _ ,” the last word is deep, intimidating but  _ oh so exciting _ , and Jeremy’s breaths are short.

Come to think of it, he feels a little… lightheaded already. He needs to sit down. Seyton seems to realize this, and takes pity on his new project.

“Come on, let’s eat while we work out the details.” As he’s lead away, Jeremy can’t help but wonder just what he’d signed up for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R&R my dudes please i had to split this chapter into two parts bc its so looong  
> literally stayed up til 4:20 (blaze it) writing this, soooo a lil high on sleep deprfvation  
> excessive use of italics is my thing, and i totally based AotD off of a combination of elder scrolls games, game grumps videos, and battle block theater.  
> your comments give me life


	3. only fools rush in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s drowning, swallowing dirty truths that close over his head, but it’s happening in slow motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maaaaajor warnings for Jeremy panicking and also for hecka emotional manipulation
> 
> please be safe

Seyton takes him somewhere nice, lowkey even, especially considering you can still order to go. When Jeremy sees the prices on the menu, his stomach drops, but Seyton waves it off and says he’ll pay for it,  _ this time _ . The implication puts butterflies in Jeremy’s stomach.

Under a microscope. Seyton watches him order, not commenting on his choice in food or his faltering voice, but Jeremy can feel the judgement and it just makes everything worse. When the waiter leaves, the taller boy leans forward.

“Your order was fine. Why did you stutter? Your stammering is a chore,” he is informed, bluntly.

“I- I don’t know?”

Seyton tilts his head, considering. “We have a lot of work to do, and it’s going to start now. Do you trust me?”

Jeremy looks up at the other boy, blue eyes serious and striking against his pale skin and dark hair. Fuck. It’s that scene from Aladdin, and he knows he shouldn’t but he’s such a sucker for boys with pretty eyes and dark hair.

“Yes.”

He’s passed the test, or so it seems from Seyton’s relaxed posture. “Alright. Take your hands out of your pockets. Arch your back, puff out your chest. Fix your posture first.”

Jeremy unbends his spine, and his mentor nods. “Hold that stance. Now. Basic rules. You see a hot girl. What do you do?”   


“Run for the nearest bathroom?” he mumbles.

Seyton sighs. “Speak up. And no. Start with a greeting. Girls almost never travel alone, and if she’s alone in the mall she’s not the kind of person you want to be with. Always greet the beta. Compliment her. Something casual, but risque.  _ Lookin’ pretty sexy _ ,” purrs Seyton, studying him carefully as the heat rises in his face.

“I can’t say that to a hot girl!”  _ And if you knew what was going through my head you wouldn’t say that anywhere within ten feet of me. _ Jeremy steadily avoids eye contact.

“Don't freak out, and don’t smile. Stare intensely. Speak like you don't care about your own death. If you listen, I promise you can be the person you want to become.”

They finish eating quickly, and Jeremy hands over the pink shoebox full of Squip. Seyton grins.

“Now, time for a new shirt. While we walk, add swagger to your gait. If you don’t, you’ll just end up looking like a masturbator.”

“What’s wrong with my-?” Jeremy starts, then his brain stops and his cheeks flush again. Seyton sure had him pegged. How mortifying.

“Jeremy. That shirt is nerdy. Nerdiness is ugly. We have to fix your vibe, and to do that, we have to fix your appearance. Now you–try picking a shirt.”

He surveys the mall awkwardly, walks into the nearest gender neutral-ish clothing store and picks up one with a cool design. It falls open, and for a second Jeremy panics because  _ how is he ever going to get it back into the neatly folded stack? _

“That’s a girl’s shirt.” Seyton doesn’t sound surprised, just disappointed to be proved right. On its own, Jeremy's hand comes up to claw at his wrist. It is swiftly caught by Seyton.

“Stop fidgeting. We’ll have to recolor your whole aesthetic, but it’s doable. Just–”

“Seyton!”  _ Oh shit, oh shit. That’s Chloe Valentine. _ And in this moment, Jeremy just  _ knows _ that he’s fucked up.

Swinging her arms around his neck, Chloe latches onto Seyton with enthusiasm. Brooke shuffles in behind, casual in a chunky sweater and blue shirt with cutouts that make Jeremy think really embarrassing things. He tries to avert his gaze from her… assets and accidentally makes eye contact with Chloe.

“Jerry?”  _ Fantastic.  _ She lets go of Seyton, backing off enough to face them properly,

“Uh, Jeremy.” He almost winces at his own falter, but remembers after Seyton’s sharp prod to keep his back straight.

“You shop here?” Brooke asks.

His eyes flick to Seyton, who merely raises an eyebrow and subtly shakes his head. “Uh, no,” and then “Never,” after some more emphatic head shaking. His guide rolls his eyes, then tilts his head forward expectantly. 

_Right. He’s supposed to greet the beta._ _Smoothly. ‘Speak like you don’t care about your own death’._ And, Jeremy thinks privately he _really_ doesn’t if it means he doesn’t have to open his mouth right now, but Seyton is raising both eyebrows now. “Hey Brooke. Lookin’ pretty sexy.”

“Thanks.” Brooke looks up at him through her thick lashes, flattered. A sick excitement bubbles up in his gut. It’s so easy to win them over, following Seyton’s instructions. But it feels like lying.  _ No,  _ he realizes,  _ it’s like having cheat codes. _

Chloe cuts them off. “Is that a girl’s shirt?” Irritation drips off the short question.

Jeremy opens his mouth, but is unsure. “Um.”

“Yes,” says Seyton, saving him from utter doom. “We saw it in the window. Jeremy was just telling me, he thought his ex had a shirt just like this.”

“It’s ah, still painful,” says Jeremy, face twisting into something that must be somewhat believable, since Brooke gives him a sympathetic look.

“So, who was this mystery girl?”

A hand comes up to scratch the back of his head and he starts to really lose the smooth speech he’d had. “Uh, you’ve- you’ve probably never heard of her-”

“Oh, don’t spare her name. It was Madeline. He just broke up with her because he found out she was cheating on him. With Jake,” salvages Seyton, and the last part has a ring of truth to it that helps Jeremy’s face fall into the same believability.

“It’s… hard to talk about. I just… can’t believe she would do that, you know.” Seyton pinches him, and he looks back, terrified he’s done something.

_ Be more chill _ , he mouths.

Right.

Jeremy resurfaces to Chloe and Brooke ranting about ‘what a  _ slut  _ she is’ and how he’s ‘ _ so _ much better off without her.’ They... really don’t seem to need his input right now, so he looks back for the other dude, who has disappeared from his spot.

“Brooke is going to offer you a ride. It is imperative that you accept,” the murmur comes form right behind him, and Seyton’s lips set sparks across the skin of his ear.

Chloe looks up at them, frowning as though the hottest guy at school whispering sensually into another guy’s ear is a mild annoyance, like a gnat or something, rather than a huge fucking deal.

“Quick, you got a ride?”

“Mm, we’ll see. Give me a minute or two with Jere, yeah?” And  _ holy fuck, nicknames. _

Brooke is fluttering her lashes at Jeremy. “Do you wanna ride?”

“Yes,” his mouth starts, and then, as if this isn’t the weirdest fucking day of his life, he’s hit with a bolt of  _ oh shit, I totally was supposed to get a ride from Michael.  _ “-but I’m supposed to meet my friend, Michael.” Why is his mouth moving like this? Michael is probably long gone, and yet here he is, lying as though he thinks Michael is still around to pick him up. Even his loser best friend isn’t that pathetic, it’s been at least an hour. Michael is probably home, getting stoned or doing whatever it is that he does when Jeremy is busy being a piece of crap.

Brooke blinks, and then her expression slide back into sultry. “Are you sure? I’m totally free.” The innuendo is killing him, he’s almost tempted but–

Seyton shoots him a look of irritation. “I… next time. I promise,” he manages.

“Whatever,” shrugs Chloe, grabbing their bags.

“My... boyfriend cheated on me, too. Ex. Boyfriend. So. I know how you feel…” Brooke smiles uncertainly, obviously let down but not pushy.

“Brooke. C’mon.” Chloe’s tone is teasing, but her eyes are wary.

Brooke gives a giggle and a delivers a terribly accented “au revoir,” then they part.

“What was that, Jeremy.” It’s not even a question.

“I… didn’t accept the ride.”

“You know full well it’s been over an hour. Michael will have left the mall.”

“I… uh,” says Jeremy intelligently.  _ I wanted to go home with you, _ but that was… kind of desperate and weird. The high he’d been riding was starting to crash.

“Jeremy. If this is going to work, you can’t just  _ listen. _ You have to  _ obey _ .” His stomach turns, but he needs this, if his life doesn’t improve he’ll- he’ll-

“I’ll take you home,” sighs Seyton, turning quickly. Jeremy’s never struggled to keep up with someone else before, his legs are usually long enough in comparison to overtake them in no time. The taller boy’s strides are swift in a way that exclude him easily. He feels lost, given the cold shoulder, but trails miserably behind anyway.

Jeremy watches the long legs in front of him, chin tucked and shoulders slumped in his cardigan. His fingers pinch on the inside of the sleeves, rubbing small circles in the blue wool. He almost misses when Seyton’s feet stop next to a black jaguar. It’s a gorgeous car, and Jeremy feels like a turd standing here staring at the feet of its owner.

“Get in,” orders Seyton, which Jeremy does, wordlessly. He feels lightheaded again, and he can’t quite buckle his seatbelt. His skin is buzzing.

The taller boy turns, and takes in the silence for a second.

“Jeremy,” he calls gently, pulling Jeremy only partway out of the episode. “We can fix this. But like I said, you need to listen.”

As Jeremy nods, he is studied again. Unseen by the dazed teen, Seyton Quick smirks, blue eyes tracing the shivering form in his passenger seat. It’ll be so  _ easy _ . He reaches for one quaking shoulder, and it stills under his commanding touch.

“Now, repeat after me.” And in a voice like velvet, Seyton begins. “Everything about you is terrible.”

“Everything about me is just terrible.”

“Good.”

It’s like he’s enchanted, in a trance. His mouth can’t help but move, lips opening and closing around the horrible words. He’s drowning, swallowing dirty truths that close over his head, but it’s happening in slow motion.

“Everything about you makes me want to die.”

“Everything about me makes me want to  _ die _ ,” and his breath catches at the end.

“Now you’ve got it,” Seyton croons. Jeremy turns, looks at him, a lifeboat in this sea of worthlessness. The hand on his shoulder tightens.

_ His eyes are like lightning,  _ thinks Jeremy, as Seyton takes his chin gently in hand and pulls him forward into a kiss.

His eyes slide shut, mouth moving hesitantly and then–his eyes fly open and he jerks backward against the seat. From the driver seat electric blue eyes watch him, corners crinkled in amusement.

“Jeremy, if you stay by me, everything about you can be wonderful. You don’t have to feel left out or unsure. You can,” and he’s been whispering, but here he pauses to smile, “be more chill.”

Jeremy surges forward, to where Seyton waits for him. His head tilts awkwardly, and he has no idea where to look, but his partner is sure and steady. This time there’s an intrusion, warm and wet, and  _ holy shit they’re kissing with tongue what. _ He’s riding a new high, sharing breath with a guy he only met hours ago.

When they break apart, even Seyton is breathless. Jeremy, though, is a  _ wreck. _ His hair is disheveled, his pale cheeks flushed with a mix of excitement and mortification, because he’s pretty sure he’s got a boner. The other teen takes one look at him and laughs, to which Jeremy squawks with indignation, fighting off a sudden bout of insecurity.

“Was that your first kiss?” Jeremy looks down, nodding with his face cradled in trembling hands.

“We’ll work on it,” assures Seyton, starting the car. Letting out a breathy laugh, Jeremy tries to get the contents of his stomach to settle as they pull out, heading home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy craaaaap guys  
> (i am so sorry)  
> shoutout to my amazing beta AUDREYYYYY
> 
> i feel like i, as an author shouldn't say this, but i still think its important:
> 
> you're not meant to like this relationship. you might find seyton and his power and the way he uses it attractive, but this is not a healthy relationship. if someone pulls this shit, your best option is to leave. this is kind of dramatic and a little unrealistic, but you'll understand as the story develops. please, please stay safe and watch out for yourselves.
> 
> uhhh just in case it isnt clear by now seyton is the squip lol
> 
> comments are always good. even if theyre angry or sad. tell me about how angry you are, how hot you think seyton is, how worried you are. i thrive off y'all's comments ;)


	4. 'five "healthy" people to avoid'- a guide by jenna rolan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Number five will shock you.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhh forgot to add this earlier be careful okay
> 
> warning for emotionally abusive squip, always. but still. it's here especially.

Jenna scowls when she looks up from her phone. Another passive aggressive text from Chloe–she’d been blown off  _ again _ . And right after the mall incident, too. She  _ knew _ Brooke and Chloe had gone out together. She’d even sent a text to let the other girl know she was free, just in case she’d forgotten to invite her, or something (Jenna  _ knows _ why she never gets invited anywhere. Chloe never forgets things, she wields information like a scythe, that’s one of the things that allows her to be such a massive bitch). Ever since their queen bee started dating that Quick guy, Jenna’s been ignored and left out even more than usual. It totally blows.

Ugh, and then Brooke forgot to pick her up this morning, so she had to take the bus. She hates the bus. The smell alone is as big a shock as each pothole. And she has to listen to the  _ freshmen _ whine about how  _ oh, Ms So and So gave another pop quiz, now I have a B, my parents are going to kill me _ . They’re in Algebra 1! What right do they have to complain?

Oh, and the sophomores. So  _ edgy _ . Seriously, if she had to listen to Daniel Tran one more time about how  _ he can’t find appeals to pathos in the readings because he can’t feel anything _ she will actually throw up. All over that Pierce the Veil shirt. She’ll do it.

She’s in such a bad mood when she sits down, she doesn’t even notice Jeremy Heere until he trips over her foot in the aisle.

Jenna raises an eyebrow while he stutters an unnecessary apology ( _ she _ tripped  _ him _ , why was he apologizing?), and normally this is where she resumes her daily life, but.

There’s something different about this half of the disgraceful duo today. He’s. Lighter somehow. Still wearing the same ridiculous cardigan he’s had since like, eighth grade, still kickin’ the same scuffed converse–but there’s a weird spring in his step she’s never seen before. Wild. Maybe that Michael kid finally asked him out. She smirks, then remembers that she’s seen Mell in that awful cruiser, and Jeremy would probably be getting a ride instead of suffering here.

Hm. Odd. Jenna doesn’t know what to think, so she goes back to studying her phone for a bit. The bus, grungy and uncomfortable as it is, is still a great place to pick up stories. Other kids generally avoid her in the halls because of Chloe, but nobody notices her as a bus-rider. The people of the bus have an unspoken agreement not to make eye contact or conversation with anyone outside of very close friendships. It’s perfect for picking up everything, inane and otherwise, said between friends to pass the time.

Jenna still likes to pretend there’s at least a chance that she’s not eavesdropping, so she puts in one earbud, playing no music. She sits as still as she can (with her head rattling soothingly against the window), and listens.

“–and I heard he tried to order the Locked and Loaded!”

“Well  _ I _ heard that Chloe Valentine was there and she–”   


“Wait, I thought she was with Seyton Quick?”

“I mean, with all the time she and Brooke–”

She frowns. So, she’d missed nothing at the mall, then. Just Seyton being his creepy self, and Chloe and Brooke having fun without her. Jenna tunes in again to a different story.

“–Dillinger hooked up with Madeleine, yeah, but apparently she was cheating with him on someone else!”

“No way! I mean, I’d tap Jake  _ anytime _ but–”

“Yeah, but did you hear who she was dating?”

When she hears the name, she lets out an audible gasp. Shit. The chatter in front of her shuts off.

“I love this song!” she blurts (Oh gosh, was that enough, do they believe her, are they mad? Wait, they’re just… looking at Jeremy. They didn’t hear her at all.).

Jeremy Heere dated Madeleine? The idea was crazy. Maddie’d never lower her standards like that–she didn’t have to if she could get with someone like Jake. Was he blackmailing her or something? Were they trading homework?

She studies the boy across the aisle. His fingers are wound in headphone cord, and he stares blankly through the window. Still, a small, dopey smile graces his face. He doesn’t look very cheated on. Or heartbroken.

Why was he so  _ happy _ ? She opens Notes on her phone, and types in some information.

_ Mall incident (9/23/17): Chloe/Brooke and Quick @ mall @ 4:40… _

She pauses. If that sophomore girl had been at the mall for about three hours after school, she’d definitely been in the mall for the same window as Chloe and Brooke, and she’d overheard Quick saying something to Chloe about being there at 4:30, about an hour after school. The information and Jeremy Heere were both at Cool Discussion, a store that Chloe dislikes but Brooke loves.

So Chloe already knows. It isn’t useful information anymore, unless she can uncover a lie or something. But if word is already getting around, Chloe clearly hasn’t made any effort to destroy his reputation. Which means that Chloe  _ believes  _ him. How did he convince her? 

Relevant or not, it’s intriguing. And if it’s the slightest bit interesting, Jenna can almost always sell it for attention. Alright then. She decides to look into it some more, closing the notes with one last bullet point about Jeremy’s weird mood today.

When he trips off the bus, Jenna follows quietly.

Jeez. He’s practically skipping. Bubbly much? He pauses, looking around for a little bit, then brightens, seeing something in the parking lot.

Jenna pulls her hair up and casually acts like she’s spitting out her gum. Hoodie pulled tighter, she tracks his progress across the lot and rummages through her bag for a cigarette. She doesn’t really smoke, she promises. It’s just that it’s a really good cover for following someone into a shady situation. She can always pretend she’s just going out of the way to smoke in private. Not that it really matters. People rarely see her if she’s not trying.

Voices from about two cars to the left float her way. Her hearing’s pretty good, which means she doesn’t have to be half as close as most people need in order to pick them up. It’s good, especially for spying on the Quick dude. He has the most uncanny instincts–he usually knows almost exactly where she is, and always at least catches her listening when he talks. Oddly enough, he’s never stopped her either (It kind of freaks her out, sometimes. Why doesn’t he rat her out? It’s like double blackmail. Is she being used?).

Jeremy’s voice, and Quick’s. Shady as fuck, honestly, why are they hiding out behind the cars? She’s only doing it to eavesdrop on them, what’s their excuse?

“–not ready to know yet. I don’t want you disrupting the social hierarchy yet. If we integrate you, let them see that you are just as worthy as any  _ girl _ , then we can be together. Do you understand, Jeremy?”

“I–I do but I just… want to be myself with you.”

“Jeremy, the whole reason you came to me is because other people don’t like who  _ you _ are. We need to make you better.”

Yikes. Jenna finds her hand at her mouth, wincing for Jeremy (She knows exactly what it is like to need to be made better.).

“Now. You need to change your shirt.” What? What does that even mean?

“Right- right now?” Uh oh. Was Quick really going to make him change in front of him? That probably wouldn’t go over well.

“Yes, before anyone sees you. We talked about this Jeremy, your nerd aesthetic has got to go. Here, I got this from that store."

“W-wait, but we didn’t- we didn’t buy anything from–”

“Jeremy. Stop stuttering.”

“Eminem? Does anyone even listen to him anymore?”

“Irrelevant. Just take your shirt off, Jeremy.”

There’s rustling, and then an awkward cough. “Stop looking at me like- like that.”

“We need to work on your build. Put it on, Jeremy.” Quick’s tone is sharp. He cuts through all of poor Jeremy’s stammering. Why? Why would Heere ever put himself through this? Even popularity wasn’t worth this degrading, manipulative shit Chloe’s boyfriend was pulling (Not that she could really judge. She caved to Chloe every time.).

There’s a pause. Then, “No.”

“Excuse me?”   


“No, you stole this from that store! I won’t wear it, it’s stupid and it’s not even yours.” A loud thump against one of the cars, and Jenna really has to strain to hear the next part, but she just barely catches it.

“It may not be mine, but you  _ are. _ You gave yourself over to me yesterday because you didn’t want to be the pathetic, lonely  _ loser _ you are now, and if you don’t put that shirt on  _ right now _ I will leave you alone and you will remain a loser for the rest of your life.  _ And I think we both know you won’t make it that long. _ ”

What the  _ fuck? _ Her own heart pounds a frantic beat of  _ Stop! Get out! Run! _ She wants to scream at Jeremy, but she is frozen from so far away by that voice. Jenna can’t even imagine how his heart must feel, bashing against an earthquake chest.

“I’m not yours,” breathes Jeremy, words bubbling up from where he lies underwater. One of them takes a step back.

Jenna’s breathing comes easier, and then she sees Jeremy walk away wearing a white Eminem shirt.  _ Oh, no. No,  _ she’s gotta go talk to him. It’s not okay, he can’t- Jenna doesn’t even care about exposing herself, she knows it’s going to be awkward as  _ fuck _ but she can’t- not after that. She can’t just  _ let that go. _

“Jenna Rolan,” says Seyton Quick from behind her. His smile is as sharp as his outfit. “We should talk.”

_ Fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahAHAHAHAHA
> 
> I am so sorry for the delay, I was struggling to write the next chapter.
> 
> so that clickbait title amirite.
> 
> 1) Jenna Rolan  
> 2) Seyton Quick  
> 3) Rich Goranski  
> 4) Dustin Kropp  
> 5) Chloe Valentine
> 
> more on that later ;)


	5. didn't anyone ever tell you not to accept drinks from strangers?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy has stressful morning, but then things get okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning (?) for panicking Jeremy, and as usual, extremely manipulative squip. take care of yourself babes.
> 
> I really worry about this fic because I gotta get this stuff out but I don't want to hurt y'all, let me know if things need more warnings please.

Jeremy’s day is going… weirdly. Aside from the already jarring argument with Seyton, that is. On the one hand, this Eminem shirt has short sleeves, which means his arms are exposed, which meant people could see and accidentally encounter the rough, splotchy skin on his measly biceps. On the other hand, he’s gotten a  _ lot _ of positive attention.

Eminem was, apparently, still very much a thing. Jeremy’s been experiencing A Feeling  (TM) that creeps up warm and bubbly in his chest but churns in his stomach. People actually know his name, and they acknowledge him in the halls!  _ It’s terrifying.  _ He wishes he had more classes with Michael. He’s drowning in faces he’s never seen and voices he can’t read well enough to know if they’re mocking him or not.

From homeroom to second period, Jeremy freaks and flutters. During passing period between third and fourth, his phone buzzes, a snapchat from Michael.

He opens the message and gets a screen full of his best friend’s face. Michael’s left eye and cheek, to be precise. It’s a up close of an already up close selfie–Jeremy can count two moles and a zit in the hyper-pixelated frame. It should be unattractive, but Michael’s cheek is scrunched, the corner of his eye crinkles in a way that Jeremy knows is because he’s smiling that goofy grin of his and just seeing it makes Jeremy smile.  _ Jeez _ he loves his best friend so much.

It’s captioned ‘saw u in hall in that mnm shirt. Didnt realize u were a fan’ He taps to the next picture and promptly groans. Finger guns in frame, the text reads ‘hey baby, you make my palms sweaty, knees weak, arms spaghetti ;)’

Jeremy screenshots the snap, then takes a quick candid of the third floor tiles. ‘Gayyyyy’ he captions, then pushes the circular blue send button. All of a sudden his stomach drops. For a second, he forgot about Seyton. Is it weird to have his friend send him pickup lines while he was dating another guy? Shoot, he hadn’t told Michael yet. Oh well, they could talk during lunch. He sends the snap anyway, adding a smiley face in the chat to let Michael know he was joking.

At lunch Jeremy throws a quick glance to their usual table, but Michael isn’t there. He frowns, joining the end of a lunch line. Just as he reaches the stack of trays, a hand claps down on his shoulder and he jumps, a strangled squawk escaping his mouth.

“Dude! I heard you got it!” Rich whisper-screams excitedly.

“Y-Yeah. Sorry, I meant to go through you but— Don’t hit me!” Nonviolent or not, when Rich’s hand tightens he can’t help but revert to his escapist mindset, but the other boy is grinning, still ecstatic.

“Nah, bro, this is awesome!” Jeremy’s eyebrows pinch together when Rich calls him ‘bro.’ It’s like a switch has been flipped. Sophomore year had hit him like a truck: classes had gotten inexplicably harder and harder, Mom and Dad had been arguing more and more, and on top of all that, Rich Goranski had decided to treat him like human garbage. Not that Jeremy could really argue, he thinks, as the bubbly feeling in his stomach dies down a little.

Rich is still talking. “–I mean, I coulda used the money. Things are kinda rough at home, if you know what I’m sayin’...”

“Yeah, dude… I know how you feel?” Jeremy tries, flailing internally because  _ what was he supposed to say to that? _ Rich looks surprised, but nods seriously, opening his mouth to add something else. He’s saved by another hand, which grabs his elbow.

“Jeremy!” greets Brooke, lashes fluttering. Her hand doesn’t leave his arm, and he thinks pathetically this is more physical contact in one day than he’s gotten in the past two years at this godforsaken school.

“B-Brooke. Hey.”

“Seyton said you were going to sit with us today and work on Bio together.”  _ Bio? But that was literally their easiest class as juniors.  _ Jeremy nodded dumbly and allowed himself to be lead away to The Table.

The Table. Where the popular kids sit. Oh God.

His breathing starts to pick up speed, and by the time he makes eye contact with Seyton, black dots have already gathered at the edge of his vision. As they approach, he is transferred from Brooke to Seyton, lead by the arm. The black and gray wavers in its descent, but still clouds his vision. Oh, Christine is there, too. He sees through the fog that her mouth is moving, her eyebrows are pinched, and it registers vaguely that she must be saying something to him. Why can’t he hear her?

A hand turns him and he’s looking into electric blue eyes again and Seyton’s lips mouth, slowly and deliberately,  _ breathe. _

Jeremy obeys. The fog clears, and his awareness returns just in time to catch the end of Christine’s question.

“N-no!”  _ Do you need to sit outside for a second? _ No, Jeremy couldn’t, he’d just gotten his chance. He had to make it worthwhile, he could do this,  _ come on. _

There’s a hard nudge at his side, Seyton wants something else. “Uh, sorry. I just forgot to breathe for a second there.”  _ Shit _ . That sounded worse.

The taller boy beside him gives him a pinch of disapproval, then clears his throat. “Nah, Jeremy’s been feeling a little out of it lately. Changing weather and all that. Speaking of which, I picked up that drink you asked for.” Holding out an opaque green bottle, Seyton raises an expectant eyebrow.

Jeremy doesn’t know what else to do but take it. Are Rich’s eyes on him? He can’t tell, but he really doesn’t want to know anyway. Instead of trying to keep track of the many,  _ many _ eyes on him, because  _ oh gosh he’s sitting at The Table and everyone is staring at his shirt and watching his hands shake and listening to his s-s-s-stupid stutter and wondering how he ever got there and when they’ll finally kick him out.  _ Wait. That thought was supposed to have an ending but he just kept spiraling, things were getting so  _ out of hand, _ and–

“Jeremy, why don’t you take a drink. You look like you need it,” suggests Sachi Quipton, the third hottest girl at the school and Rich’s girlfriend. If the panicking teen looked he would have seen Rich cast a pained look at said girlfriend, but he is too busy downing the drink.

The fizz burns down his throat, but she’s right–it’s a welcome distraction, and his mind has cleared.

His “Thank you” comes out startlingly smooth, as does the smile he gives to reassure a worried Christine beside Jake. His laugh comes easy at Sachi’s next joke, and his heart flutters bearably when Seyton’s hand finds his knee under the table. He is calm, happy, and there is no tremor in his hands.

There’s no quiet trickle of  _ what why how and something’s not right, what was in that drink?  _

There’s no soft whisper of  _ whose seat is this anyway, who is missing from The Table today? _

There’s no skipped beat in his chest of  _ MichaelMichaelMichael is he okay, where is he? _

And if there was, it was very much drowned out by the crackle of The Table’s approval, the glow of easy connection, the burn of being  _ seen _ .

* * *

Back out in the parking lot, Michael Mell drops his slushie. After getting beat up on his way out to pick up lunch, he shouldn’t be surprised, but really, what’s one more thing to add to his already shitty day? His car, his fugly, gold-brown baby, has been  _ attacked.  _ How  _ could  _ they?! Tires slashed, doors keyed, the whole shebang. He shouldn’t get so worked up but–his hand comes to his mouth and he starts to bawl.

Jenna Rolan hears him, knows she should go help or, or _something_. But. _Fuck._ (She’s already fucked up enough trying to help someone else.) She’s just so. _Tired._ And the words are echoing in her head, have been since before the bell rang (when she decided she was fine sitting out here forever if it meant she didn’t have to go face Quick or Chloe or Brooke or anyone). _Jenna Rolan. We should talk._

_ After all, it would be a shame if Chloe had to drop her most loyal pet. I mean, what else would she do if she knew you liked  _ girls?  _ If she knew about the night with  _ Alexis Chylde? _ If she knew how you felt about  _ Brooke?

_ And oh, what would your parents think? No, I wouldn’t tell them… But Chloe might. _

_ You’ll be quiet, won’t you, Jenna? _

_ After all, we both know Chloe can be  _ such _ a bitch. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahah
> 
> the summary was "Jeremy has stressful morning, but then things get okay."
> 
> I maybe should've mentioned Michael and Jenna had a slightly worse morning ;)
> 
> R&R I eat this stuff up. Also, thank you to everyone who has commented, you're all lovelies and I love how scared you are of Seyton I literally squeal every time you call him creepy.


	6. what? filler chapter? never. its a hot pocket break yoooo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my brain is like BZZzz  
> my heart is like woOow
> 
> in which christine's head and feelings are color-coded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry I haven't updated in YEARS I promise another update is coming soon I've just been busy crying over homework  
> ALSO guess who did backstage running crewwww this fall???? It's amazing and fun I'm dead and also living anYWAY

Christine’s mind is buzzing–as usual.

Every time she blinks colors  _ burst _ behind her eyelids, feelings like fireworks. Of course there’s the yellow flickering that is ever present during the production of a show, but this year it’s a little dampened, with flecks of brown and coral. She’s still torn on the revamping of one of her favorite Shakespearean plays, but oh well.

Pink blooms excitedly at the thought of all the popular kids who are joining the production this year. They’ll bring in a big crowd, she’s sure of it. There are undertones of indigo with that thought, a little  _ aw, why wasn’t I enough to get the school to join _ but she lets go of it easily.

A soft shoot of purple springs from within her emotional bouquet, a rich violet just for Jake Dillinger . Her legs swing back and forth under her chair while she waits for rehearsal to start.

Throwing a deliberately casual glance (tamping down the extreme giddiness rising in her chest at the thought of  _ Jake _ ) at the seat waiting next to her, she’s a little surprised to see Chloe Valentine approaching rapidly, Brooke in formation behind her. They’re missing Jenna, she notes, with a periwinkle unsettledness. The school gossip had not been at any of her classes. Christine doesn’t have many feelings about Jenna, but something just doesn’t seem right about the situation. Chloe looks pissed; she wonders if the two observations are related.

“Is this seat saved?” the queen bee snaps, ignoring Christine’s answer entirely and sitting down.

“Seyton said he saw you at the mall with Jake last night,” starts Chloe, without preamble.

“Yeah, I was saving a seat for him…” she trails off.

The other girl laughs, throwing her head back. “Yeah, about that... Jake’s not coming.”

“Is he sick?”

Another patronizing laugh. “He’s at Model U.N. Or whatever it is this week. You know Jake. Always jumping from one...  _ extracurricular _ to another.” Navy blue apprehension laps at Christine’s ankles, and her swinging legs slow to a stop.

“I- I don’t know him that well…”

Chloe shoots her a look of utterly fake sympathy, nodding. “Well, he loves to try new things. He just doesn’t always  _ stay _ with them after he... _ tries _ them. If you know what I—”

“We’re just friends,” she blurts.

“ _ What? _ ”

The words tumble out faster than she even thinks about them. “I know you guys used to date? So if that’s what this is about…” She caved so quickly, gosh.

Chloe interrupts her off even faster, a rushed “Ohmygod! No, no, no! Jake and I are totally  _ over _ !” spilling from her lips with a high pitched laugh.

“Yeah, he’s so gross,” adds Brooke, but Jake’s ex-girlfriend turns very, _very_ quickly with a “He is not _gross_!” that cuts so sharply across that she just can’t be convinced Chloe is over him. It hits her then–of course she isn’t, she’s only been dating Seyton for like, two months! They probably broke up over the summer and _oh gosh is Christine a rebound?_ _Or worse, the other woman??_ Actually, both ideas are equally frightening. And _dramatic_.

Wow, love triangles are really not all they’re cracked up to be.

“Friends,” repeats Chloe, an almost relieved whisper under her breath. “I’m so glad. Because, real talk, I would  _ hate _ for you to think that the reason Jake’s not here...is he’s already bored of you.”

Christine sucks in a tiny, quiet gasp.

“Bye!” rings out as the woman scorned flounces cheerfully away, bringing her hotter-than-hellfire fury with her.

A wave of indigo crashes down on her. Okay, she can- she can deal with this later. She takes a deep breath, letting the blue in till she’s almost too full, then pushes it all back, letting negative feeling gush out. It’s alright for now. She can process it all later.

“Is this seat taken?”  _ GAH. _ Not again! Oh, it’s Jeremy, she thinks, a green swirl of surprise.

“I… don’t know,” she admits.

Jeremy shuffles awkwardly for a second, looking up toward something in the distance and then back. “Then how about I sit here til- til whoever shows up?”

She doesn’t want to be alone. “Sure. Hey, are you… okay?” Things have been happening lately that leave her with turquoise blends of uncertainty. While she’s happy to see Jeremy a little more settled than usual and sitting with her and Jake, the way he looks at Seyton Quick sometimes leaves her with cobalt splashes of alarm. Jeremy’s different these days.

“Uh, w-what?”

“Just, at the mall yesterday, you seemed really shaken. And then today at lunch. Everything alright?”

“Oh y-yeah that’s just- I don’t really- I, uh…”

Christine waited patiently, watching his brows furrow. Lime sparks as he turns his head and makes clear eye contact with Seyton from across the auditorium.

“I… haven’t been feeling well lately. Seyton has been trying to help me… be better,” Jeremy answers slowly.

“You mean,  _ feel _ better?”

“Y-Yeah! Of course. So, uh, where’s Jake?”

“How should I know?” she mutters. Guess her frustration is going to be harder to shake off than she thought.

“You guys aren’t going out?” Jeremy hazards, leaning toward her.

“No–”

“Really?!” The whole auditorium turns to stare at them, mid-monologue. Orange embarrassment creeps up.

“Mr. Heere! Your script is closed. Which I can only assume means you’ve memorized your entire part. Please: regale us,” challenges Reyes, to a frozen, flushed Jeremy.

“Or perhaps you’re simply wasting our time?”

The pale teen stands with his eyes closed, and takes a deep breath. Mr. Reyes starts to ask him to leave, but Jeremy holds a shaky hand out, silencing the increasingly irritated drama teacher. Steel grey pounds in Christine’s chest, the dull color of anticipation, ready to flare into a new color.

Determined brown eyes open, finding first Seyton’s blue irises, then her own.

“If we zombies have offended, think but this and all is…” he clearly forgets the word, but after the tiniest of pauses, finds it. “Mended: That we have but landed here while these spaceships did appear, and this weak and idle theme–no more yielding but a dream.”

He turns, to the rest of the auditorium, and the scarlet fire for theater that she carries wherever she goes burns in his eyes. “ _ Or is it? _ ”

Amethyst. Jeremy is glowing Amethyst. Wow, she’s… confused. Purple is mostly a Jake color, or so she thought, but she sees it now around Jeremy and doesn’t know what to think. He seems to realize what he’s done and quakes back into his seat.

“Well!” Reyes picks up, briskly. “It seems the rest of you can learn from Mr. Heere’s commitment to the craft. Now, time for a Hot Pocket Break!”

“You’re really into this,” says Christine, now that the quiet has broken and students mill around on break.

“Why- why else would I be here?”

“Yeah… Right,” she says, then shifting closer to him. “Can I ask you something?” Squash-colored nervousness buzzes in her throat, but she presses on.

“Of course.”

“This is weird, but… Say there’s this person you pass in the hall every day. You’ve known him since forever, and you always used to assume he was someone else, but he’s stopped putting on a persona and… you kind of might be into him? Is… Is he worth it?”

Silence. Christine looks back at the boy beside her. His eyes are wide, mouth open.

“I just… I thought I had him pegged, but he’s… exactly the kind of guy I’d be into. What do you think, Jeremy? Is he worth it?” She repeats, peach tinting each word.

“Absolutely,” he tells her.

She looks down, a smile curving across her face. She notes with pink satisfaction that her legs swing freely again.

“Thanks, Jeremy. It’s really nice to be able to talk to someone. You’re really nice to sit with. I’m glad-“

“Hot pocket break over, people!” Reyes shouts over her.

Christine smiles, suppressing the gargle-shriek that yearns to make itself heard. Back to play rehearsal–a time for serious noises, no nonsense. She’s got to get in character as Bottom and wow the crowd with her poise–actually, okay, Bottom would totally make the noise she wants to. But she’s not onstage, so she’ll sit quietly and work on her lines and definitely not think about Jeremy being such a great friend and Jake being so cool and confident and maybe even  _ into her _ .

Her legs swing frantic even in Jake’s absence, her world is soft pink because even if he’s not here she has Jeremy, who’s such a wonderful guy, and play rehearsal, and a comedic role that she loves. By the time it’s all over, her legs are tired and the happy glow has finally started to fade. Christine sees Jake, waiting at the auditorium doors and turns to Jeremy quickly, whispering a quick “There he is! Wish me luck!” Then she darts toward the exit, ready to… Hm. She stops. Actually, she’s still a little upset, but she’ll give him a chance to explain, after a little bit ignoring him, of course. Christine bounds ahead, plan in place.

Jeremy is still sitting, far behind her, shoulders weighed down by the crushing  _ I knew she wasn’t talking about me _ . It’s funny. Despite all the signs–because he knew, he just  _ knew _ she wasn’t talking about him, nobody would ever think about him that way, much less admit it to him–here he was, cold shock settling sad in his chest. He turns to Brooke, who eagerly babbles, accepting her offered ride, and tries to remember to move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get ready kids next chapter is a BOP
> 
> also, shoutout to Audrey, my beta, for soothing my fears
> 
> and also to my maIN MAN MAX for consistently asking me about this fic and reassuring me it's ok to be a complete freak and write this


	7. Just when it can't get worse / I've had a shit day / You've had a shit day / We've had a shit day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really, Michael’s just having the shittiest day ever. It’s fine, it’s cool, it’s whatever. But fuck, what a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter (and the next one) are really freaking long guys holy crap  
> also i kind of hate the formatting for the text messages but its the only way i could think of that makes them take up less space but allows me to project my double-texting tendencies.
> 
> warnings in this chapter for mentioned breakdown and v v harsh language and big arguments. idk if this is how to warn people. it's going to hurt. get ready.

Thank _fuck_ for empty parking lots.

Really, what would Michael do without them? There’s really nowhere else better to break down, y’know? For the rest of his lunch period, he’d sat in one, blessedly uninterrupted, as he rocked his car with sobs. The unforgiving asphalt had paid no mind to the pathetic upheaval of his soul. The pigeons had carefully kept their distance when he’d kicked his dropped slushy across the yellow-boxed spaces. He had lamented in peace.

But calls had to be made, so as the last of that red-flavored slush melted into the black, he’d dialed his parents, explained in shaky monotone the situation, and picked himself off the ground to greet the tow truck. Had brushed off his mom, walked back into the very building that spawned this particularly shitty day, gone back to class and sat down. Nobody even looked at him as long as he kept his hood up–his classmates always just thought he was just high.

He’d gotten through, gripping the sides of the desk with white knuckles and bouncing his knee. He’d gotten through fine, had survived the nightmare, had hoped and waited for Jeremy at the end of this impossible day.

Jeremy isn’t where Michael waits for him. Fuck, that’s right. Play rehearsal goes a little longer today, like it will every Wednesday for the next few weeks. Well, he can wait here–that’s kind of needy and desperate–but _fuck_ if he doesn’t need his best friend right now. He settles against the wall, pulls out some Spanish homework due two periods ago that he never got around to doing during lunch. Deciding the current playlist just isn’t working, he switches tracks to the one labelled _drowning_ , the playlist he likes to put all the songs that swallow him up in their loudness, that carry him far away when Marley fails to reignite his bounce. These songs he likes to blast at near-full volume, so he can appropriately drown in the music. It’s not good for his ears, but high school isn’t good for his soul and yet here he is anyway.

Really, Michael’s just having the shittiest day ever. It’s fine, it’s cool, it’s whatever. But fuck, what a day.

He shoots Jeremy a text–actually, he sends like, ten, but they’re really just one text. It’s not double texting if it’s all just one sentence broken up, he insists to himself.

_To p1:_

> hey  
> can you  
> come over  
> after rehearsal  
> i’m  
> having a  
> Day (TM)  
> also I’ll walk with you my  
> car is getting fixed

By the time he’s done with his reading for AP Spanish, twenty five minutes have passed. Sighing, he puts it away and checks his phone. Five minutes left. Oh, a message from Mom.

_From Nanay:_

> Hey totoy, took your baby to mechanic, says she’ll be fine  
> You should be able to drive again before end of the week!  
> Love you :)

Well. That’s actually a big weight off his chest. He sends back a ‘Thanks mom, love you too’ like the good son he’s been raised to be.

His phone buzzes again, and another weight lifts when he sees that it’s Jeremy.

_From p1:_

> shit dude sorry just saw this  
> rehearsal got out early today I got a ride home from someone

Oh, that’s… only slightly upsetting. Whatever, maybe he can go to Jeremy’s.

_p2:_

> nah bro you’re cool  
> uhhhh do you mind if I  
> come over?

_p1:_

> please do  
> its been such A Day

_p2:_

> of course  
> Are you doing alright??

_p1:_

> yeah just  
> don’t want to be alone right now

_p2:_

> be there in twenty

Michael sighs, swinging his bag back over one shoulder, and trudges out. Maybe he can catch the bus? It’s only a twenty minute walk… He starts off toward Jeremy’s. As he walks, his eyes wander. Not around, at the bushes, or the lawns and driveways he knows he’s passing. His eyes trace cracks in the sidewalk, gray smudges that he knows are pieces of gum long trampled, little green spurts of weeds growing between blocks. It’s easier to avoid people this way, he’s dodging shoes instead of faces. And, well, you can tell a lot about people from their shoes. Where they do and don’t step, the brand, color, and condition. Rich Goranski, the guy that bullies Jeremy, wears those stupid white athlete-endorsed shoes that all the other popular jocks do, but they’re pretty beat up and he’s really careful about stepping in stuff with them. His girlfriend, Sachi Quipton, wears unadorned black flats that on any other girl would be diminutive, but they’re weirdly shiny and intimidating, each of her steps perfectly timed and elegantly taken.

Those were the shoes and wearers he had failed to avoid earlier, culminating in his little… episode at lunch. Now that he’s seen them once, he’ll know what to look out for. He won’t let himself be cornered like that again.

Anyway. It doesn’t take long for him to arrive at the Heere household, lost in thought as he is. Michael pauses his music as he shuffles up to the porch. As usual, the door is open before he makes it to their welcome mat; his best friend waits, a soft grin on his face that is infectious despite the horrors of the day. Jeremy Heere is an instant mood boost for Michael, honestly. The sky is still gray, his car is still broken, but Michael is very much in love with this boy whom he gets to spend time with.

He’s pulled inside, already giddy. They take the stairs up two at a time until Jeremy’s sock slides on the smooth steps and he trips, flailing and nearly making a very hard final impact with the ground, but Michael catches him. Sort of. Michael slows his descent, at the very least. With his own body. It totally knocks the wind out of him, but it’s such a _moment_ that he wheezes and the other boy laughs along too, a little awkwardly.

Then his best friend freezes, face dropping from giggle-ready to startled in an instant.

“I… we need- we need to talk.”

His stomach drops. Jeremy stuttering and frozen, was never a problem in front of Michael, but it was almost always the symptom of something worse. What’s going on?

“What? You’re- you’re breaking up with me?” he gasps in mock-horror, to no reaction. In fact, the white-shirted boy pales even more.

“Dude,” he tries, gently. “It’s just a joke, we’re alright. What’s up?”

“I- I need to- to tell you something.”

“Yeah?” Michael looks at him, expectant, but Jeremy won’t meet his eyes. The bad omens are piling up, but at least the other boy still grabs his hand when he takes him into the bedroom, plopping them both down on his bed.

“I’m dating Seyton Quick” is probably one of the last things he expects out of Jeremy’s mouth, followed only by, like, “A quantum nanocomputer cured my anxiety and social awkwardness” or “I listened to Eminem and decided my emotional connection to Slim Shady outweighs my uncomfortable awareness of Eminem’s history of misogyny, homophobia, and cultural appropriation.”

Nevertheless, the words come out, and Jeremy announces almost frantically, “I’m dating Seyton Quick.”

What.

_Breathe in._

The.

_Breathe out._

Fuck?

 _C’mon Michael,_ breathe _. If he sees you freak out he’ll freak out and then you’ll both start crying and Mr. Heere will find out his son is apparently gay._

“What?” Oops, that was slightly harsher than he intended. He tries for excitement instead of terror. “How? Why? When?” They’re apparently playing twenty questions now.

“Uh…” Jeremy swallows. “Yesterday. At the mall. I was…” He pauses, eyes going unfocused and nose scrunching up. “I was about to order the um, the,” his voice lowers to a whisper. “ _The Locked and Loaded._ ”

 _Really? You come out with no warning, dating a guy we barely know and_ that _is what you choose to whisper? Of all the things, Jeremy_ , Michael almost snaps, but reels it in. Jeremy stumbles on in his explanation.

“A-and the counter guy was giving me trouble but then… then Seyton came out from Payless and uh, helped me. Yeah, he helped me,” why does it sound like Jeremy is watering this down for him?

“And then I mentioned the Squip and we traded for uh, lessons in popularity. And he t-took me out to eat and we talked and then we saw Brooke and Chloe and his lessons worked and Brooke offered me a ride but I kinda wanted to ride with Seyton so I told her no and Seyton was kind of mad but I think he realized I was kind of into him because he kissed me? And then he drove me home because you weren’t there and-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, stop. He did what? You…”

The ghost-white teen flushes blood-red. “He kissed me. And- and I kissed back. And now we’re dating.”

Michael shoves down the rushing _Seyton Quick, Jeremy’s first kiss._ He even restrains the _really, so you ditched me at the mall for a new boyfriend?_ and a side of _he’s not even your type,_ _Jeremy_ that wants to trample over this awful revelation. What he cannot manage to suppress bludgeons their fragile peace in only seven words.

“Jeremy, that’s fucking weird. What the fuck?”

For a moment, there’s silence. Jeremy looks lost.

Then, a subdued “I don’t know, man. I- I really like him.”

Alright, time for damage control. Nonjudgmental, coaxing tone. That’s what Michael needs to be using right now. Nonjudgmental, coaxing tone is _not_ what comes out.

“So, when did you decide you were into guys?” He bites out.

His best friend flinches. “I- I- I don’t know! Why are you shouting at me?”

Michael’s mouth has apparently decided to fuck over their friendship indiscriminately now. “I don’t know, it’s just kind of weird that you spent a year and a half mooning over this girl and making all the ‘no homo’ jokes you can up until yesterday when you decided you were gay for someone you’d never even talked to before.”

“Wh- what? Why is that such a big deal to you?”

“I don’t know, why is that not for _you?_ His friends spend all their time getting wasted, skipping class, and bullying us. Rich slashed my tires this morning, he and his fucking girlfriend decided to fucking steal my shit and shove me into a closet.”

“They… what?” Jeremy looks so confused. “No, Rich was- no! Sachi's nice! She just moved in, she helped me with my- she helped me with my-“

“My baby has been _assaulted_ , Jeremy. Maybe she’s fooling you, but that Sachi girl is fucking planning something.” Michael leans forward, tone earnest and pissed.

“They- no!” He just can’t get past the idea of something being wrong. “Sachi’s helped me today, I was about to have a panic attack and she- she told me to drink the thing Seyton got me and then everything was better!”

“She- you drank _what?_ Dude, that’s super fucked up. Seyton gave you a drink and it made you _calm down?_ What was in it? What the _fuck,_ dude?” He’s only just barely not screaming. It’s like all of the shitty things that happened in the past two days that he’s shoved under have just exploded out into this tidal wave of rage.

“I said yes! It’s not like I didn’t have control over my actions or anything. And it helped! Stop trying to- to take this away from me! I just- I just- I just want to spend time with other people, okay? I want to date him!”

“That’s some bullshit manipulation! He’s manipulating you, or something! God, why can’t you see it? You barely even know the guy and now you think you’re gay for him? He’s playing you!”

Jeremy’s been turned toward him the whole time, but now he shoots to his feet, absolutely livid. “What the fuck, Michael? Just because I’ve never expressed interest to _you_ before means nothing! Stop trying to tell me I don’t like boys and get over the fact that now you’re not the only special kid now.”

Michael starts shouting over him about halfway through. “The _fuck_ do you mean- the special kid? I get bullied and ignored at school _every_ _day_ because of it, fuck you!”

“Like- like I don’t get bullied too? Why can’t you just let- just let me be happy with him? You were supposed to be someone- s- s- someone I could trust to talk about- about this but all you’ve been is a d- d- dick!” Jeremy’s in his face now, gasp-stuttering as things escalate, desperation but mostly anger burning in his eyes.

“I’m sorry I have other problems outside of you! Like, oh, I don’t know, your boyfriend’s goons _fucking up my car!_ But I’ll just go now, since I only make everything worse, huh?” He shoves his so-called best friend out of his face. _Too close, too close, stop stop stop._

“Shut up, you _asshole_. That’s not what I meant! I don’t understand why you’re being so difficult over this!” Arms flailing, mouths shouting, if Mr. Heere is home they’re screwed.

“Well, what the _fuck_ do you actually mean then, _Jeremiah?_ Because I’m getting kind of mixed signals about your priorities right now!”

“I don’t know! I wanted to spend time with you! I thought I could trust you but then you fucking decide to kick me in the balls, I don’t know what your issue even is.” He’s so fucking _whiny_ , he’s not even _listening_ to Michael, turned away and hunched over.

“Well, _sorry_. It’s always about you and your fucking bullshit. Sorry I don’t have time for it today! Doesn’t feel so great, getting left behind, huh?” Apparently the mall incident bugged Michael a lot more than he’d told himself it did. Apparently, apparently. All these realizations are coming just a moment too late, after they’ve already been regurgitated in Jeremy’s stress-splotched face.

“I thought you needed this! I wanted to make up for leaving you, but if you’re just going to bitch about how _awful_ I am you can fucking leave!”

“Fuck you, I _will_ leave!” Nobody can say Michael Mell stays where he’s not wanted! He marches outside the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"Don't fucking come back! I don't need you!” is screamed down from the top of the stairs, where Jeremy stands, wheezing. Seriously, _fuck you Jeremy_.

“ _Fine!_ At least I won’t have to look at _you_ or your stupid _face_ ever again!” With that, there’s a final door slam. He freezes when he hears glass shatter in the Heere household.

“ _Fuck you!_ ” shrieks Jeremy from inside.

Michael knows his best friend better than he probably knows himself. He’s pretty sure they both break down at exactly the same time, and he can hear the muffled sobs coming from up the stairs and to the left, where Jeremy is probably sitting in the hallway with a ruined picture frame or something. Michael himself has no tears, only a lingering, deep-set rage that flickers in the ashes of the day, extinguished for now by the heaving exhaustion and wrenching hopelessness of having lost his best friend.

It fucking _hurts_. All he wants to do is make them better, _fix them_ , but he’s so tired and it’s been such a shitty day and Jeremy doesn’t even want him anymore. He gives it up before he ever gets started and instead takes the long, lonely walk home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'I think this might be it for us  
> Blow me one last kiss'
> 
> title and notes inspired by P!nk's 'Blow Me' sorry not sorry :)
> 
> (i'm lowkey cackling please comment/kudos i live off the emotions y'all feel from this stuff)


	8. when will you understand that your actions have CONSEQUENCES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God. He thought he’d keep them away from the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY THIS IS A TRIGGER WARNING
> 
> THIS CHAPTER IS VERY GRAPHIC
> 
> there are graphic depictions of:  
> drowning  
> self harm  
> basically a panic attack?  
> more emotional manipulation, always!
> 
> be safe my children. if you don't think you can handle it but want to know what happens, see the end notes for a summary of the chapter, okay?
> 
> also. this is just a weird chapter. i uhhhhh experience life in metaphors and the only way i could describe this was drowning, so there are weird transitiony things that happen.
> 
> i love you all.

_“Most drowning victims are taken by surprise and are in a state of shock, often silent and missing the shouting and arm waving as seen on TV,” announces the Michael of Jeremy’s memory._

_“Dude, why are you telling me this? They haven’t even started swimming yet,” he’d pointed out. They’d been watching something, a movie. He doesn’t know what it was. Doesn’t remember anymore._

_“I’m just letting you know, man. I was reading an article yesterday. The scene’s going to be inaccurate.”_

_“Thank you, Oh Informed One. Anything else to share, Your Knowledgeableness?” Jeremy had asked, jesting._

_“Well, for one, from 2005 to 2014, there was an average of ten drownings every day. This is serious stuff. There are five stages to drowning-“_

_“Dude, enough!” He’d been in stitches. “How do you even remember this stuff anyway?”_

_“I dunno, man. Just sticks in my brain.”_

_“Oh. That’s kinda cool,” Jeremy had avoided the topic but taken the cue. Michael’s brain really liked playing things on loop–from songs to catchphrases to, apparently, death statistics. It had been a really rough week. Michael probably didn’t want to die by drowning, but for whatever reason his brain had decided to fixate on it. Jeremy’d keep them away from water until it got better._

God. He thought he’d keep them away from the water.

_“I’m sorry I have other problems outside of you!"_

Rivers of ink pool around his ankles. Not again, not again.

_“Well, what the fuck do you actually mean then, Jeremiah? Because I’m getting kind of mixed signals about your priorities right now!”_

It’s rushing, rising to the drumbeat of pounding waves. Why why _why_ they always leave they always leave him behind.

_“It’s always about you and your fucking bullshit. Sorry I don’t have time for it today! Doesn’t feel so great, getting left behind, huh?”_

Liquid shadows creep past his waist, swelling to a cold, violent crescendo. It’s all his fault. It’s _always_ his fault.

_“Fuck you, I will leave!” Slam._

The tide surges through.

_“Fine! At least I won’t have to look at you ever again!” A final slam that jolts the whole house. Jeremy slams himself against the wall, and a picture frame falls in the hallway._

Roaring. The water crashes over him. He’s frozen he can’t scream, nobody is home, nobody can help him escape the current. Panic floods his senses. He holds his breath, squeezes his eyes shut, shivers violently. Cold, cold, cold. A burn rises up from his lungs into his head and he gasps in water, it travels down his throat and it hurts, hurts, hurts. No air no air _no air_ his eyes are open he’s staring at the glimmering surface of the water above watching everything slip away _oh fuck_ he’s ruined everything Michael hates him _what has he done_ fuck fuck fuck fuck _he is the water._

He convulses, whole body jerking and his head smashes against the wall behind him, shocks himself into the sensation of breath again, but then the water flickers back into place and he’s drowning again, _oh God._

Desperate hands scrabble against the carpet in the hallway, clawing and finding nothing because he’s alone he can’t handle this anymore and _ow._

He raises his trembling fingers in front of them, watches the blood run and the water clear, and knows what he needs to do.

Jeremy struggles to his knees, wades through the ocean all around and keeps his eyes on his hands. He gropes around, clenches a fist around a piece of glass.

Mom, Christine, Michael. _Do it._

At first his hand shakes too much. He drags too light in some places and jabs through other sections and it just makes him angrier. The first jagged red line across his wrist feels like failure again, so he sucks in a breath, taking the water into his lungs, and slashes down. It hurts more than he was expecting, he nearly drops the shard–but all of a sudden his lungs have cleared. The glass comes down against his arm again. And again and again and again. When he can finally breathe and his eyes no longer see the dark watery abyss he’s fallen into, he looks at the mangled flesh of his left arm.

_Fuck._

There’s so much blood it’s all over the carpet the slashes cut uneven and harsh everywhere on his skin, he needs help he doesn't know what to do what can he do oh God. The more he looks at it the worse it hurts, and panic rises again. He reaches for his phone and stills.

Michael won’t answer. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He sees a text from Seyton, _Come to school early tomorrow,_ and his fingers move on their own.

_To Seyton Quick:_

> Can you come to my house I need help i fucked up im sorry

_Seyton:_

> I’ll be there in ten minutes.

Jeremy lets go of the breath he’s been holding. He also lets go of the _wait when did we exchange numbers_ and _how does he know my address,_ instead picks himself off the ground, picking up the glass around him. The pieces leave little cuts all over his hands, but there’s not much he can do anyway and _it’s what you deserve,_ his brain adds spitefully.

He drops the glass into the kitchen garbage, then sits on the staircase and stares helpless at his hands. He should cover them. He wants to stand up but he can’t. The sudden hopelessness of the situation has swallowed him up again.

Two black loafers enter his field of view. Tired brown eyes trail upward past slacks, shirt and blazer and stop once they find the electric blue gaze that started this whole mess. How did he even get inside? Had Michael left the door unlocked?

Jeremy wants to be angry at this fucking _life-ruiner,_ but all he can do is start crying again.

Seyton’s face flashes with disgust, but he is gentle when he gathers Jeremy up into a somewhat functioning bundle. Under Seyton’s direction, he shambles back up the stairs and into his bathroom, points feebly at the cabinet with the supplies, then sits despondent on the toilet cover. Under Seyton’s direction, he takes a shuddery sip of that minty green liquid from earlier today, letting the situation wash over him. It works just as well as it did during lunch, stops his desperate gasping and lets him just _breathe_ a little.

His blood is wiped away. It stings still, and there’s a sick feeling in his stomach when he looks at how the skin folds weirdly now. Jeremy closes his eyes.

“Tell me what happened.”

The story unravels on his tongue, and he finds that as he tells it his shaking hands still. Something soft scratches against his wrist, and is wrapped around the wound. Bandages. Panic starts building again, _Oh God, what has he done? Why isn’t the drink working, he’s supposed to calm down but the fear keeps coming, his words keep shivering he can’t do this he just needs to get the story out._

Once he’s done talking and Seyton is done wrapping, he opens his eyes again. The taller boy watches almost fondly, leaning forward to leave an almost tender kiss to his forehead. Jeremy’s hair is smoothed back, his face cradled, and Seyton comes in for a kiss on his mouth this time.

It’s heated, intense, and almost… calculated? Jeremy pushes him away.

“I don’t- I can’t. Not right now.”

Blue eyes darken, storm clouds forming on a faraway horizon. “Because of Michael?”

“Wh-what? No! I just…” His chin drops to his chest. It’s been such a long day, this thought has been building for a while. “I’m not good enough for you,” he chokes out.

There’s a long, pregnant pause.

Then, “Oh, _Jeremy._ ”

Seyton sounds so _sad,_ like Jeremy is some pathetic pup he’s found in the gutter, half drowned and starving. _And is he even wrong?_ His brain betrays him. He’s gathered into the other boy’s arms again, held protectively.

“It’s not your fault that you are… this way,” soothes Seyton, running gentle fingers through his hair. Jeremy is melting.

“You need to upgrade, Jeremy. I can help you, but only if you let me. We can’t have any more incidents like this morning,” and Jeremy sucks in a gasp. He had been freaking out all day, and it had started with the incident this morning. He’d just… He’d panicked.

“You need to understand that _nobody_ can love you as you are. You know that, don’t you Jeremy?”

He bites his lip, head still tucked into Seyton’s chest. “What… what about Michael?”

Seyton pauses, then chuckles condescendingly. “Jeremy, do you really believe he loves you after all that’s happened today? He hurt you, left you broken in your own home. Michael’s been holding you back, Jeremy.”

“But…” The protest is almost involuntary. Michael’s been his only friend since forever, there’s no way he…

“Jeremy,” Seyton stops him, tone firm, “Why did you call me, then? Michael isn’t here for you. He doesn’t love you. I am the only one who loves you,” _Oh God, Oh God, what does he even say to that._ “Now, come with me.”

Like the obedient, affection-hungry dog he is, Jeremy follows Seyton into his own bedroom. The door shuts with a muted click behind them. It’s like being lead to an execution.

Seyton holds out his phone. Michael’s contact blurs in his vision. _Why is it open to Michael’s contact?_ “To become the person you want to be, you need to make sacrifices. I know you think you love Michael, but he’s only hurting you. I want you to block him.”

Jeremy falls onto his bed. “N-n-no. I c-can’t. Please don’t make me,” he pleads.

“Jeremy. What did we talk about today? Following my instructions has only helped you so far. This is for your own good.”

“P-p- _please,_ ” he begs, looking up at Seyton. His mentor’s face is unreadable, then he kneels in front of Jeremy and cups his chin _so gently,_ like Jeremy is something fragile.

“Jeremy, I’m asking you to do this because I _care_ about you.”

The words echo in his mind. He’s heard them before. Mom. He shatters.

 _Block this caller?_ One huge ugly sob explodes out of his chest, but he presses _Yes._

Seyton hushes him, sits on the bed and pulls him closer, rocking him. “You did well, I’m proud of you.” Something warm and absolutely ugly blooms in Jeremy’s chest at the approval.

“Jeremy, you’re going to do great things with me. Keep listening, and you’ll finally be what you want to be.”

 _You’re mine now,_ Jeremy hears. _You are worthless without me, you are worthless right now, and you’ll be what I want you to be because everything you want is as dumb and pathetic as you._

The water level has not fallen. Dark ocean still looms above. He isn’t drowning anymore though. He _is_ the tide, but Seyton is the moon. He is everything that is wrong, but he can be fixed, his awfulness can be held at bay. He knows what Seyton wants him to say.

“I am yours to command,” he answers, obedient. It feels like surrender.

“ _Good._ Now,” says Seyton, taking in Jeremy’s room, the nerdy posters, dull, awkward closet, the laptop open to a very incriminating site. Some forlorn part of Jeremy acknowledges that Michael is only the beginning of what Jeremy is about to give up. “ _Let’s get to work._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There Are Typically Five Stages To Drowning:  
> 1\. Surprise  
> 2\. Involuntary Breath Holding  
> 3\. Unconsciousness  
> 4\. Hypoxic Convulsions  
> 5\. Clinical Death
> 
> drowning statistics and stages found online here: https://www.canyonguides.org/drowning-and-near-drowning/
> 
> SUMMARY:  
> Jeremy, freaking out after the argument with Michael last chapter, has a panic attack and harms himself pretty badly. He texts Seyton for help, and Seyton takes advantage of Jeremy's state to make him pledge loyalty. Seyton makes Jeremy drink the same minty green liquid from earlier, and then makes Jeremy block Michael on his phone. Jeremy's self esteem is revealed to be very, very low. Water and drowning are used as a metaphor for poor mental health and panic attacks.
> 
> if you have thought about/are thinking about suicide or self harm, please reach out to someone.
> 
> National Suicide Prevention Lifeline  
> 1-800-273-8255
> 
> hoo boy, it's been. a rough week. no drowning incidents for me, just the all-encompassing feeling that everything is hopeless. I'm working my way out of it, but I swear sometimes this fandom is the only thing keeping me alive.
> 
> Stay safe, friends. Don't hesitate to reach out! And as always, your comments and kudos mean the world to me :3
> 
> fun fact: if you read through jeremy's panic attack, you can track the five stages of drowning. seyton is 'clinical death.'


	9. you're second hand smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're second hand smoke, second hand smoke  
> I breathe you in, but, honey, I don't know what you're doing to me  
> Mon chéri, but the truth catches up with us eventually  
> Try to say live, live and let live  
> But I'm no good, good at lip service  
> Except when they're yours, mi amor  
> I'm coming for you and I'm making war
> 
> And I still love the way you hurt me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? fallout boy lyrics? jeremy voice: nEverrr.  
> IM SO SORRY ITS BEEN YEARS SINCE IVE UPDATED but if it makes it any better this chapter is really freakin long. like, twice the length of the average chapter.  
> shoutout to audrey for putting up with this mess.  
> no trigger warnings except minor references to past abuse and also explicit description of the PSAT.

Rich wakes up, as usual, to a text from Sachi.

_ From sachishine (✿◠‿◠): _

> Don’t forget we have the PSAT today. Bring a jacket :)

‘okay’ he types, then thinks better of it.

_ richard: _

> thanks, sunshine <3

Gotta show the proper amount of gratitude and affection, Richard, or they’ll think we’re having problems. Gotta show the proper amount of gratitude and affection or she’ll start causing problems, more like. Whatever.

He’s up a little earlier this morning, so he after he rolls out of bed he decides he can spend a little longer than usual in the shower. As he watches the suds bubble quietly down the drain he glumly contemplates his existence. Only 6:35 and already he’s feeling like shit.

It’s not like a text from Sachi is abnormal. He’s woken up to some sort of direction from her every morning since the summer before sophomore year. That’s just how their relationship functions. He shuts off the water, stepping out of the shower. Toweling off, Rich examines a hickey in the mirror. Another territory marker. Whatever, he thinks, flushing slightly. It’s not like he minds.

See, Rich met Sachi Quipton online the summer after freshman year, decidedly the worst year of his life. He’d been a loser, a complete and total freak, and had not done well with rejection. He’d been in some weird parts of the internet when she found him. Sachi somehow instantly knew what kind of help he needed. Somehow. Not like you could tell that sort of thing from his instant cringe profile photo or the bio that read more like a plea for death than described his life. Yeah, he’d been one fuck-turd of a freshman.

He sighs at the mirror. Not that he’s much better junior year. He scratches idly at the curling iron-shaped burn scar on his bicep, then stops himself. Nope, not doing that. Everything is acting up today, memories on his skin from the summer and sophomore year and the fucking tragedy of freshman year itching like some fucking allergic reaction. It’s not allergy season, fuck-turd. Get over it.

Oh, Sachi. Even in freshman year, she had known just what to say. She forgave his incessant fuckups, coached him through online shopping and helped him renovate his whole personality that summer, preparing him for the sophomore experience. Then, when sophomore year started, she helped him pick a target to project all of his insecurities on, and fucking  _ annihilate _ it.

Now, Rich wonders if this was her plan all along. Spend a year destroying Jeremy Heere, pretend he’s the scum of the earth for being everything Rich had been, then raise him up to be their little slave. He honestly wouldn’t put it past her.

Shit, the jacket. He grimaces, trudges back to his closet, and reminds himself to unclench his fists. It’s just a  _ jacket. _ It had been a gift from his now-girlfriend, to cover up evidence of his dad’s wrath. Now it feels like a collar. He’s pretty sure nobody knows it’s from Sachi, but every time he wears it he remembers just how much he  _ owes. _

Back when Sachi lived in California, so very far out of reach, he’d wished desperately that she would come see him. His daily sustenance had been her morning texts, her little reminders about what to do and say and sweet reassurances that he wasn’t a complete waste of space and that his dad could be improved. He flattered her by default, so charmed by her attention and care, so desperate to show affection to someone and know it would be returned that it was easy to send that  _ ‘thinking of you’ _ or  _ ‘good morning, gorgeous’ _ every day. Now that she was here, in New Jersey… Well.

He’d been into her ever since he met her, but they’d been so far apart he never thought he’d have a chance. Then Sachi had moved during the summer, and they’d transitioned from friends to hookups to dating in two weeks. He thought he was in love with her. Then, a week before school started, Seyton Quick moved in.

Rich makes his way downstairs, passing his older brother’s closed door. Paul’s been closed off ever since he realized Sachi’s real and not some fake internet girlfriend Rich has been making up for the past two years. He shoots the door a quick glare, then slings his bag over his shoulder and strides into the kitchen. Can’t be late.

He isn’t stupid, he knows Sachi sleeps with Seyton, he’d fuck Seyton too if he wasn’t uncomfortably aware of what a manipulative piece of shit he was, and female.  ~~ No, not female. Seyton's maleness is not an issue for Rich. ~~ Anyway. It doesn’t matter enough for him to break up with her over it. What would he do without her?

Shaking himself out of thought for the seventh time this morning, Rich sticks two blueberry pop tarts in the toaster, and grabs a napkin to hold them with later. He leaves a pot of coffee out for his Dad before he heads to work.

The Quipton and Quick families own a major pharmaceutical company together–Quiksalve. Two weeks before Sachi moved in, Rich’s dad started working for that company. Now he’s never home long enough to get angry at him or Paul. And there’s no reason to, with the cash flowing securely into their account. 

Rich hasn’t ever directly acknowledged the thought, but in the back of his mind lurks the threat that if he ever acts up in front of Sachi, his Dad could be the one to suffer. It is... Well. It just  _ is. _ He can’t change it.

And a part of him doesn’t even want to.

She’s been so helpful ever since he’s met her, coaxing him through the ups and downs of the high school social ladder. Without Sachi’s intervention, he never would have met Jake or dated Brooke or worked out or been able to pass Geometry. She’s done so  _ much _ for him, and even if she’s replaced his dad’s marks with her own he can’t honestly say he doesn’t prefer hers. At least can say he loves Sachi.

He’s startled when the toaster dings, and grabs the hot, sweet, currently-crumbling-in-his-shaky-burning-hands treats. There’s a honk from outside. Sachi. Shit.

Wide eyes consider the definitely too hot to eat breakfast in his hand. Another honk. Rich shoves down the scorching food, gulps and chugs a glass of water that does literally nothing for his raw, burning throat. Breakfast finished, he dashes to the door to meet Sachi outside.

“Good morning,” she greets him, nodding approvingly at his jacket as he slides into the car.

They’re off without fanfare. Mailboxes, backyards, porches blur by. Rich takes the time to look at Sachi for a little. He won’t see her for most of the day–juniors at Middleborough take the PSAT in twenty alphabetized rows in the gym, and Q is only eight rows away from G, but Rich enrolled late for the test and is assigned to the back of the gym. Her gaze is cool and steely, always, eyeliner emphasizing pretty brown eyes. Her hair is loosely pulled back, black dress accompanied by a sharp blazer for the autumn chill and for the extra shock of color. Practical and poised, prepossessed. In short, perfect as always.

Sachi rolls to a stop in her usual spot and turns off the car, shifting in her seat so she faces his way.

“Are we going to have a problem?”  _ You gotta bone to pick? _ He knows almost exactly what she’s talking about.

“No. I’m sorry. I should have listened to you,” he tells her, and even means it.

“Good,” she sighs, features softening. “You’ve come so far. I just want you to be happy, Richard.”

And he is. He is. But. “I  _ am. _ You always make it better,” he explains, but. “But Jeremy. Is not. And he hasn’t been, because-“ Because of us, he doesn’t finish.

Sachi’s voice slices through the silence. “Because of bad genetics, poor parenting, and the survival instincts of a bipolar snow hare.  _ We are making him better. _ Just like I did for you.”

There’s a counterargument waiting under his tongue, but Rich does not know what it is or how to use it. Is he better? Will Jeremy really be better after this? How can Rich even make that decision? All he does is nod. They exit the car.

Before they walk into homeroom (Funny that, how they’d ended up with such similar schedules. Almost like it was preordained. By God or Sachi, he doesn’t want to know), Sachi pulls him aside.

“Jeremy had a rough night. If you really care about him, you’ll be a good friend today and help us help him.” Then she walks away.

Rich’s fists are clenched. He unclenches them, takes a breath, then walks to Jake’s homeroom instead. It’ll be his first tardy of the year, it doesn’t even matter now that Sachi’s started taking him to school. He can afford to skip.

Jake’s homeroom is on the third floor, but when he checks, Jake isn’t even there. Instead, Rich finds him lounging on a bench by the gym, on his phone with a worried expression. Typical Jake, actually worrying about one of the many standardized tests. He’s gotten perfect grades since kindergarten.

“Hey dude!” Jake calls out, standing up for their grab-hold-shoulder-bump-hip-check-fistbump-finger-gun handshake. It’s kind of ridiculous, this version of it. They’ve got like, three, Rich thinks. This one is their casual  _ nobody is watching us and we’re not busy so we can be a little more extra than normal _ one. They’ve got a shorter one, for hallways and small-victory celebrations, and a really long one they’ve only used twice, once after Jake was away for like half the summer and then when Rich found out Sachi was moving to Middleborough. It took them several tries to come up with, though. It’s by far Rich’s favorite way to celebrate anything, that ridiculous combination of dabbing, ass-slapping, hugging, pelvic thrusting, and bumping of things that honestly should never make contact in a handshake.

“You’re not worrying about the test, are you, bro?” Rich already knows he is, but it’s part of the unwritten laws of their bro-hood that he ask.

“Me? Worry about a test? Never,” laughs Jake. That’s also tradition. For a guy like Jake, who’s perfect at basically everything, it would be understandable if he didn’t care about how things turn out. But behind his blindingly, perfectly straight smile Jake hides a lot of worries. Even the guy with everything has insecurities. It was one of the major revelations Rich had after Sachi.

“Hey man, did you remember your #2 pencil?” the other dude nudges him out of his thoughts, eyebrows raised knowingly.

Rich snorts. “What, and break my perfect streak of unpreparedness?” This is basically tradition, too. He’s forgotten school supplies for everything from Honors Algebra to the official AP, and the PSAT is no exception, merit scholarship be damned.

“I don’t know man. You’ve been coming to school on time, didn’t know what to expect. I’m surprised Sachi didn’t remind you. Still, I never should have overestimated you.” His voice sounds weird somehow.

“Hey, man. At least I remembered we have a test today,” Rich points out, ignoring it like he always does when Jake brings up Sachi in that weird voice.

Jake’s lightens up again. “Luckily for you, I brought extra anyway,” he announces, handing over two pre-sharpened pencils.

“This is why you’re my main man,” says Rich. Jake really is the best, keeping their pre-test ritual going strong.

The bell rings and they head inside, signing the attendance list and splitting up to find their tests and seats. Once Rich takes his seat at the back of the gym, he zones out, kicking his legs out like the self assured jock he’s supposed to play as the other students file dazedly into the room.

Testing days go by in two different dimensions, Rich is pretty sure. There’s the Inside the Test and the Outside. In the Inside, time is less the clock ticking away on the projector screen at the gym’s entrance and more the endless rollercoaster of  _ in the box labelled B fill in the bubbles of your name look up when you are done shit shit what equation which definition E) NO CHANGE please put down your pencil and close your test booklet. _ The breaks in between tests are like little slices of the Outside dimension to swallow down quickly, gasping before they’re all forced to plunge back into the chaos of numbers and bolded letters. Rich accidentally breaks one of Jake’s pencils from pressing too hard into his desk and feels nearly half the gym turn to stare blankly at him before returning to their papers, eyes wide and unfeeling like the test-taking zombies they’ve become. Already Rich sees where the PSAT memes are going to come from this year, but that doesn’t settle the dread in his stomach when he closes the Reading section of the test and has to start the no-calculator math section. He does not finish either section.

When finally he finishes, he approaches his group, just catching the end of Jake’s “Oh my gosh, did you get a fraction for #48?” He balks. Rich did not make it past #42.

Sachi nods at him. “28 over 17?”

Jake frowns. “Shit, I had 14/17. Did I forget to multiply by two, or…?”

Rich slaps him on the back as he enters the circle of juniors. “Nah broski, it’s all good. You’ve got this in the bag,” he reassures, ignoring Sachi’s glare. He’s not saying she’s wrong, he’s just pointing out Jake is awesome always. Hm, but she might be mad at him for stealing the spotlight. He opens up the discussion like she taught him to. “So! Where are we off to, gang?”

“I thought we decided on Panera,” pipes up Brooke.

Chloe scoffs. “Not again. We’ve gone there like, three times this week.” Jake nods his agreement, and Brooke withdraws into herself slightly.

“Hey, it’s alright. Do you want to stop by after school instead?” Oh shit, that’s Jeremy, taking some serious hints from Seyton, who looks proud. The reforming nerd hadn’t even stuttered, amazingly. Brooke beams at him, nodding. Hm. Rich takes another look around the group so he doesn’t miss anyone else. Somebody’s missing–Jenna.

Chloe cuts into their conversation, shooting a glare at her boyfriend. Ah, so she’s caught on to the fact that Seyton plans to fuck Jeremy in the near future. This definitely won’t mess with the group dynamics. “Seyton, honey, didn’t you mention a new place had opened up on Hill Street? Why don’t we go there?”

Rich always forgets that Chloe is dating Seyton, because they just don’t  _ do _ a lot together. But they are, and every few days Chloe brings it up with bursts of sickly sweet affection for her definitely-cheating-on-her-and-using-her-money rebound. Jeremy seems to be connecting the dots now, too. Yikes. The other boy looks vaguely sick, and turns away slightly from Seyton. Chloe doesn’t exactly smirk, but it’s a near thing.

They decide to go to the cafe, Jake stopping by to invite an enthusiastic Christine, and Sachi stopping by her locker with Seyton and Rich in tow while Jeremy is left to his own devices. The poor guy looks kind of like a drowning fish, glancing desperately between Chloe, who very obviously hates him for like, three separate reasons, and Brooke, who is sweet but who Seyton is probably making Jeremy date to make Chloe mad and make him more popular. What a wonderful feeling, knowing why everyone in his group hates each other. What a gift Sachi’s given him.

Rich, like the great boyfriend he is, holds Sachi’s stuff while she switches things out in her locker, and definitely does not listen to the very heated conversation Sachi is having with Seyton.

“You know I had her marked for mine, stick with your own people, Seyton!” Sachi snaps, slamming her locker shut for effect even though she hasn’t finished taking her stuff out. Ah yes, the old property rights argument. Which pitiful children are they fighting for custody of today?

“She was going to interfere. I had to stop her somehow.  _ Maybe _ if you’d kept her on a tighter leash we wouldn’t have this problem,” retorts Seyton.

“Maybe if  _ you’d _ stay in your lane and not cause scenes everywhere. Things are best done without witnesses.” Things like cornering Michael Mell behind the parking lot yesterday, watching brown eyes dart frantically for someone, anyone to help before Rich shoved forward.

Sachi keeps ranting. “It’s just like you, making a big mess of everything so you can watch your little pets drown in it all. Jenna was mine!” Oh shit. That’s why Jenna hasn’t been around lately. His stomach is less than pleased with this mystery solved.

“She’ll still come back if you call. You know that,” Seyton points out, as Sachi reopens her locker.

“Now she’ll see me differently. Everyone  _ knows _ we’re connected. Meanwhile, Chloe's rage burns ever hotter. Jeremy won't last long with her like this. Are you going to do anything about it?”

The other guy hums, smirking. “Play the good guy, then. Invite her back with your protection. And I know. I have plans for them. I’m testing the new batch. He’s responded so well so far, with Brooke and everything. Such a nice, obedient little pet. Much calmer now.”

Ice in his stomach. Squip. Squip. They’re going to drug Jeremy,  _ again, _ with untested stuff. Fuck. This is really bad. Rich’s hands curl into fists, again. It’s so strange, wanting to protect someone he’s beaten down for so long. It fills him with remorse. Sachi shoots him a Look.

“Calm down, Richard. We’re not testing Squip on Jeremy.” And it’s such an obvious lie, but his hands fall loose and Sachi nods easily, taking them in her own. He’s cold. Rich watches helplessly as his girlfriend tugs him away to lunch.

(After lunch, after school, after play rehearsal, Rich pulls Jeremy aside and whispers in fervent, hushed tones, that he can’t drink anything else Seyton gives him. He does this, resolutely ignoring the wrist brace that is almost definitely hiding bandages on Jeremy’s left hand. He doesn’t explain why Jeremy can’t, and it turns out he doesn’t even need to.

“Why? It’s making me  _ better, _ ” Jeremy says, and Rich’s heart lurches. Fuck, what has he done?  _ What has he done? _

It’s too late. Jeremy leaves Rich gaping behind the costume rack, walks up to where Seyton and Chloe are cuddling in a chair meant for one person, sits down next to Brooke compliments her manicure, like Seyton probably told him to. He takes the blushing girl’s hands in his own, voice barely wavering as he asks her about what she thinks of the play, like Seyton told him to.

He doesn’t want to date her, but he will. He doesn’t want to take Squip, but he will. He doesn’t want to hurt himself, but he will.

Like  ~~ Sachi ~~ Seyton told him to.

The scar on the back of Rich’s arm stings.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can we please talk about how freaking cold it is in testing facilities?? what is the deal. i have complaints.  
> i feel like sachi would make supreme efforts to mellow my boi rich out.  
> yall wanted to know about that drink :) :) :)  
> also listen, i know rich and jake's relationship in the musical might be based on LIES but here there's nothing but the sweet mindlessness of bro-traditions that way things can't fall apart if rich has to be a real boy again  
> blehhhhhh i really. dont. want to write the next chapter. im so sorry. im dragging myself out of writer's block but let me tell you it is a real struggle. ANYWAY please comment i love you all :)


	10. damn your kiss and the awful things you do (yeah you're worse than nicotine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've lost control and I don't want it back  
> I'm going numb, I've been hijacked  
> It's a fucking drag...
> 
> ~
> 
> There's an itch under Jeremy's skin that won't go away, and Seyton is always with Chloe. Decisions are made.
> 
> TW for abuse, emotional manipulation, and references to but not description of sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG HOLY SHIT GUYS IM SO SORRY  
> title/summary from P!atD's Nicotine  
> i always prewrite the chapters so i was like oh yeah okay i just need to write the next chapter and then i can publish the next one,,, and then,,,,, my brain,,,,,,,,, HIJACKED THE FIC like wait no hang on I wanna explore Jeremy's decay a little more and i was like really??? last week you were sick of jeremy!!! but apparenlty reading fanfiction and not writing this has refreshed me with New Things so thats fun

**Saturday 26 September 2017**

_Day 6 of Project Make Jeremy Chill_

Jeremy and Seyton go out on a date. Seyton picks him up, and Jeremy desperately shoves down his fantasies about getting ravished all over the the fancy black leather of the Jaguar.

Then he sees the massive bruise on his secret boyfriend’s neck, in the shape of Chloe Valentine’s lips.

 _Chloe’s mark._ Jeremy can feel his blood boiling. _So that’s where he was Friday night._

“Hello, Jeremy,” drawls Seyton, as Jeremy throws himself into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut.

He doesn’t answer, or even look back, knowing if he does he’ll just have to look at the stupid fucking hickey on his gorgeous fucking neck, or _worse,_ Seyton’s stupid eyes and their shitty enchanting gleam. Instead, he does the mature and reasonable thing, folding his arms and staring resolutely out the window of the car.

“Such a drama queen.” Seyton rolls his eyes, starting the car. There’s silence between them, with only the radio playing quietly in the background. They’re enroute to a diner on the outskirts of town, per Sachi’s recommendation. She says they have an especially good apple pie.

 _Sachi just doesn’t seem like the kind of person to enjoy pie that much,_ Jeremy thinks, ignoring the steady stream of _he’s hiding me, she’s helping him hide me_ in the back of his mind.

As they drive, the anger bubbling just underneath starts to simmer down, and Jeremy feels more tired than anything. He leans his head back, smiling slightly despite himself when Seyton sees his drooping eyes and turns the radio down. By the time they get to the diner, he’s still a little dazed from the short nap he’d fallen into.

Jeremy blames the sleep-haze for the pathetic way he clings to Seyton’s arm as they stumble toward the shiny silver walls of the diner, but can’t reasonably excuse the adoring flutter that steals his breath when Seyton graciously holds the door before they enter.

Half an hour later finds Jeremy mollified by the peace offering of a strawberry milkshake, and the weight of his boyfriend’s hand in his. Under the table, of course.

It’s like something straight out of a movie–Seyton with his leather jacket and piercing blue eyes, and Jeremy with his fluttery hands and lashes and feelings and the milky pink glass, whipped cream in perfect frothy swirls with a cherry on top. He’s very much aware he’s supposed to be playing the part of the lovestruck girl, the girl in the movies who, despite all odds, gets her chainsmoking biker bad boy lover to quit smoking and stop pushing people into lockers through her awkward charm.

 _If only I was more charming,_ Jeremy thinks wryly.

Under the table, Seyton pulls away his hand and rummages through a messenger bag for the drink he makes Jeremy take whenever they’re together. The drink Rich warned him not to take.

“Seyton,” he starts, suddenly. No reply, his date doesn’t even stop rummaging through the bag.

“Rich told me to stop drinking whatever you’re giving me,” Jeremy says. Slowly, Seyton turns back toward him, head tilted.

“Really? Why would he say that?” It’s phrased like permission to say what’s been on Jeremy’s mind, but he knows it’s a test. _It’s always been a test._

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly.

Rich’s motives have always been unclear. _Why bully me sophomore year, to rescue me junior year and then halfway through try to sabotage me again?_ Electric blue eyes track his movement as he reaches across the table and takes the green bottle from Seyton’s hands.

Jeremy uncaps it, and takes a sip.

 _There it is._ Seyton’s jaw relaxes, and he leans back in his chair, expression pleased. He’s passed the test. A current runs through Jeremy at the approval.

“I know that it makes me better. I know that I need to be better. I just wanted to let you know, in case he tried anything else.”

“I’m glad you understand,” announces Seyton, taking Jeremy’s hand above the table this time. He studies their joined hands and Jeremy wills down his blush.

When they leave the dine, Seyton stops outside the car to light a cigarette, leaning against a sun-streaked sky.

 _Peak boyfriend aesthetic,_ murmurs Jeremy’s brain. He wills it to shut up.

“You know, Jeremy, you’ve come a really long way. I mean, it’s been what––five days? Since we made our deal, and you… well. You’ve made so much progress. It’s really amazing,” Seyton tells him, watching their entwined hands again. When he looks up, Jeremy looks away, biting his lip to hide his obvious grin.

“Sachi and I have been talking about it–we think you could be even better. You’ll need to be. After all, we can’t bring losers to the top when we take over our parent’s companies.”

His breath hitches. _What?_

“Y-y-you’d bring me up with you?”

Seyton frowns. “Stuttering, Jeremy.” His expression softens. “But yes, if we refine you a little, you’ll be good enough for us. Perfect, even.”

 _But not good enough now._ He’s dizzy. There’s so much––the test, the hickies, the offer, and this reminder that he’s still _not good enough._

“Jeremy,” he scolds, annoyed now. “This is not something to whine about. We’re making you better. Just remember that. You have nothing to worry about as long as you listen to me, right? I’m the only one who loves you.”

 _Not good enough, not good enough,_ chants his brain. Sexton’s words aren’t quite reaching him in the right ways anymore. He’s wallowing too deeply.

_Not good enough, not good enough, not good enough-_

The wallowing ends abruptly, with a searing pain in his shoulder.

Yelping, Jeremy rips himself away. “My- What did you do to my shirt?” _Yes, because that is our biggest concern right now. The burn in your shirt._

Seyton watches him, eerily still as he holds the still-smoking cigarette he just extinguished on Jeremy’s skin. “Stuttering again, Jeremy. You weren’t listening. Besides, I thought I told you to stop wearing that shirt.”

Real tears start at the pain, and its source pushes off the Jaguar to come cradle Jeremy. “I’m sorry,” Seyton murmurs. “I wasn’t thinking.”

He nods miserably. _Not good enough, not good enough._

“It’s okay. I probably deserved it. I was slouching again, too,” he points out, with a high, wobbly laugh. He’s confused. _Why am I saying this? Why am I here? Why whywhywhy?_

“Let me take you home.” He’s led back to the car for their long drive home. Seyton holds the door for him to get in and out, and Jeremy’s shoulder screams the whole way.

* * *

**Monday 28 September 2017**

_Day 8 of Project Make Jeremy Chill_

On Tuesday Chloe is pretty awful, which isn’t surprising, because Chloe’s idol is Heather Chandler so all she wants in life is to be a mythic bitch.

From period one to play rehearsal, Chloe’s all “mm, Seyton, I had so much fun last Friday,” and flaunting her own hickies by very loudly asking Brooke if she can borrow concealer during second period. Jeremy’s shoulder stings.

She leaves her bag behind Jeremy when they stand around Seyton’s locker so that he trips in front of everyone. For once, only two people snicker when he lands hard on his hands. Still, there’s a rush of _fuck fuck fuck I messed up I wanna die_ that chokes him for the rest of passing period, so he retaliates by sliding her drink closer to Seyton’s elbow when they’re not looking. Then, when she demands attention for the seventieth time, Seyton turns and knocks the minty midnight mocha over.

It spills all over her front, leaving a dark brown stain on her previously pristine buttercup yellow shirt. She shrieks. The table cringes. For one millisecond, Seyton’s eyebrow rises and he whips back to give Jeremy a Look, but then he winces with the rest of the table and tries to help a blubbering Chloe clean up. Jeremy hides his smirk in his elbow, and the mythic bitch whines her way into going home early.

* * *

**Tuesday 29 September 2017**

_Day 9 of Project Make Jeremy Chill_

Today Jenna scuttles back to their table, after a week and a half of radio silence. She doesn’t sit next to Chloe anymore. Instead, she sits next to Sachi, opposite Rich and Jake. Chloe frowns, inviting her over, and Sachi politely intervenes, saying they have a Bio project to work on together.

It’s at this point Jeremy realizes that Chloe considers certain people _hers,_ as in, she decides what they do and where they go and they give her attention and validation while she preens above them.

Biology is a codeword, an easy in and out excuse in their group, because it’s a class almost everybody’s taking, but nobody cares about. Brooke invited Jeremy to the table with a request for tutoring, Sachi welcomes Jenna back with the easy transition of a project.

It’s at this point Jeremy realizes that Chloe considers certain people hers, and she doesn’t enjoy having them taken away from her, and that in addition to Seyton who is his own sphere of influence, and Jenna who’s in Sachi’s, there’s Brooke. Brooke, _who’s dating Jeremy._

* * *

**Wednesday 30 September 2017**

_Day 10 of Project Make Jeremy Chill_

Jeremy takes a few deep breaths. _I’m not a bad person,_ he reminds himself. He’s not doing this to spite Chloe, because Seyton has also been pushing him to take things with Brooke further, and Brooke has been… very eager. Slinging his backpack off his good shoulder, he takes out his phone and a lunchbox.

Jeremy steels himself as he types the preplanned text, then presses send.

_From jere-bear <3: _

hey, meet me at our spot. i’ve got something for you ;)

Seyton says leading her to ‘their spot’ will spark her interest and strengthen her attachment to him. Jeremy privately thinks it’s kind of creepy, but then of course, his experience with the opposite sex is very limited.

Carefully, he lifts out a box of chocolate covered strawberries that are beginning to melt. He has a goal, one that Brooke’s been hinting at for a while now, but that Seyton has told him to withhold until today.

_You can’t make it seem rushed, Jeremy. Let your eyes wander, but don’t let them linger. She’s insecure. We need to capitalize on that._

...

Apparently he plays his cards right, because half an hour later finds his hand on her face, soft. His tongue sweeping across her lips, soft, his fingers through her hair, soft. The breath that passes between them is soft, too. Sweet and soft and nothing like the sour guilt that settles hot and heavy in his stomach.

After lunch he walks Brooke to her class, freezing and burning at the same time as she entwines their hands. Her giggles float down the hall, drawing attention to them, but she’s too excited to notice.

 _She’s so happy to be with me,_ he realizes, and the regret hits hard, but then Seyton and Chloe are waiting for Brooke by the door to AP Lang, and Chloe is scowling and Seyton is grinning and Jeremy’s heart is soaring.

Jeremy thinks, only a little ashamedly, _It was worth it._

* * *

**Thursday 1 October 2017**

_Day 11 of Project Make Jeremy Chill_

Play rehearsal doesn’t stop being overwhelming. Jeremy is over Christine, now, but she doesn’t stop being… _Christine._ The rest of the popular crew lags behind a little during every scene, but he finds himself swept away in the show. His skin buzzes with the energy and life of the play.

But backstage, his skin itches for reasons entirely separate from A Midsummer’s Nightmare About Zombies.

There’s too much opportunity. There are too many dark corners behind costume racks and in closets, too many gaps in between dialogue, too many times Jeremy comes backstage to find Seyton and Chloe making out or grinding or just… spooning in a chair. He keeps finding simmering wells of hatred inside him, every time he finds them, and Chloe knows it.

Even Brooke gets distracted by it, voice stumbling from low and sultry to high and flimsy when Chloe drags Seyton into a closet during play rehearsal and Jeremy can’t take his eyes off the door.

Chloe sends a triumphant smirk his way, then slams it shut. Jeremy can’t pay attention to anything the rest of rehearsal, too distracted by the noises from the closet. His shoulder stings.

* * *

**Friday 2 October 2017**

_Day 12 of Project Make Jeremy Chill_

Jeremy’s skin is tight. He gets flashes of hot and cold and a tingling sensation that keeps running up his arms. His shoulder stings.

Everyone can see the tension bubbling inside him. The lunch group doesn’t talk to him, and Sachi interjects every time Chloe tries to start a controversial sentence. Rich watches him carefully over his salad, not quite avoiding eye contact but not making it either.

Jeremy knows Seyton and Chloe are going on a date tonight. He hates it. He hates being kept a secret without being kept a secret, he hates _Chloe_ and _not being good enough_ and he hates _himself_ and before he can stop himself he’s dialing Seyton’s number in his phone, interrupting his night out, breaking their rules, _oh fuck._

When Seyton comes in, he’s pissed and Jeremy’s already crying, already stuttering _I’m sorry I’m sorry I fucked up I deserve to die I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry._

Seyton’s already roaring. “So you want to be hurt? _Is that what you want, Jeremy?_ ”

Scrambling backward, yelping, _No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I fucked up. I didn’t mean to I deserve to die I deserve to be hurt I can’t-_

A hand crashes into his face, he falls hard onto his stinging hands and _Seyton does not_ **_stop._ **

* * *

**Saturday 3 October 2017**

_Day 13 of Project Make Jeremy Chill_

Jeremy spends the day alone. Seyton doesn’t text him. Everything stings.

_Not good enough, not good enough, not good enough._

* * *

 

**Sunday 4 October 2017**

_Day 14 of Project Make Jeremy Chill_

_Unblock ‘p2’ from your contacts?_

_ > Yes _

_ > No _

_Not good enough, not good enough, not good enough._

He turns his phone off and goes back to bed.

* * *

**Monday 5 October 2017**

_Day 15 of Project Make Jeremy Chill_

“Now, one more time. How did you get hurt, Jeremy?” Sachi’s voice is gentle, her fingers even more so as she dots yellowish concealer across his left cheekbone.

Jeremy flinches anyway. “Um. I- I tripped and fell out of Seyton’s car on Saturday.”

_Not good enough, not good enough, not good enough._

“That’s right,” she says, almost cooing. He feels very much condescended to. Sachi turns to grab a makeup sponge and starts dabbing at his skin again. It stings, and Sachi pauses to look sympathetically at him when he hisses. Embarrassed, Jeremy averts his eyes and stares straight behind her.

They’re in the Geometry classroom. The walls are decked in triangle puns and dotted-line diagrams that seem more suited for elementary school, and some meme posters to make the teachers feel relevant to their students. It’s kind of an overwhelming amount of math to be looking at so early in the morning, so instead Jeremy focuses on a succulent on the teacher’s desk, the same dry green plasticky plant as every other teacher in the math department has.

Sachi picks up a paler color, this time applying it to his whole face. His cheeks start to flush once he realizes what she’s doing–covering up his acne. He doesn’t have long to linger, as the sponge makes a sore return, poking directly at his bruise. Then she dabs at the rest of his skin, and she’s done. She starts packing things back into the makeup bag.

Jeremy makes to get up. “I’m not done yet, Jeremy,” Sachi orders. Back down he goes.

When she turns again it’s a light powder foundation. Jeremy falls into another trance, lulled by the soothing sweep of the brush against his aching face. The classroom they’re in is silent except for Sachi’s hums of satisfaction, and the occasional click of a brush handle on the desk and she switches makeup.

Quietly, he returns to staring at the plant. It’s a little droopy, in need of water, or light. Jeremy almost feels bad for it. The life of a plant must be tiring, indeed. His eyes slide shut, slowly, one slow blink at a time, and then Sachi starts talking.

“You know,” muses his attendant, “You really do have a pretty face.”

Brown eyes fly open to find a dark blue smirk waiting for him. He tears his gaze away from her deep turquoise lipstick to her own eyes, which watch him with a disconcerting gleam. Jeremy’s mouth drops open slightly, but he can’t find any words to ask what she means.

“I can see why Seyton likes you so much,” she continues, conversationally. “You’re just his type.” Bitterness curls in his stomach.

“I don’t know, I’m not that much like you or Chloe,” he mutters, then freezes.

 _Shit. Shitshitshit._ How could he say that to Sachi, of all people? He’s going to die. Jeremy’s clammy hands clench, life flashing before his eyes. _Is this how the week ends? Jeremy Heere: kissed Brooke Lohst, torrid affair with Seyton Quick, died insulting the other Other Woman._ Then he hears Sachi laugh.

“Oh, Jeremy. Don’t let Seyton’s… side interests bother you. Chloe was a fast track to popularity. He won’t be much longer with her. And as for me… Well. I’m not _really_ his type. You’ve got nothing to worry about, Jeremy. You are by _far_ his favorite.”

 _His favorite,_ Jeremy thinks, face warm. _His favorite,_ Jeremy repeats the mantra, ignoring the aches all over his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hooooo boyyyyy so this is why you don't attach your sense of worth to somebody else's approval!! you deserve to be happy! you deserve to make decisions because you want to be happy! you do not deserve to be hurt!
> 
> anyway,,,, everything i'd prewritten is kinda screwed for next chapter, LOL but i'll work it out!!  
> coming back from winter break has actually screwed me over so hard lmao
> 
> your comments,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, are so great my dudes thank you so much y'all are the realest


	11. say, that smells suspiciously like a conspiracy of regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke smells Mistakes in the air.
> 
> Warnings:  
> mild reference to anorexia (nobody has it, though), verbal bullying, mild non-explicit sexual content (no outright sex is had or described), discussion of consent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorryyyyyyyy  
> so like, my teachers all gave me unit exams and also i had a scholarship application due two weeks ago, so i was busy all that time, then this week was finals week so i was busy then, but finally i am back and writing stuff.  
> i am so sorry it took literally years.

“Bye Chlo! Thanks for paying tonight, Sachi! See y’all Monday!” Brooke throws a wave over her shoulder as she and Jenna stroll back to her car.

“Yeah, thanks for tonight,” calls Jenna. Brooke smiles at the ground, taking care to avoid the soggy leaves that are everywhere now that they’re well into October. Her face falls a little. It’s October. Time has flown so fast.

“Jeez, Jen. This year is flying by. I feel like we haven’t talked in forever.”

Jenna gives a quiet, almost nervous chuckle. “Yeah, it’s flying. Busy.”

“It’s different now that we have such different classes, now,” agrees Brooke, mind wandering. She catches a whiff of cinnamon as they pass a bakery, and she almost wants to stop for a photo, but the night is getting colder and she’d rather be in the car. “Hey, how’s Yearbook going? I know you were excited about that last year.”

Silence. Brooke looks over to see Jenna staring blankly off to the side. “Jenna?”

She snaps back into line, barely avoiding the lamppost she’d been about to collide with. “Sorry I- I don’t know.”

“It’s alright. Rough week?”

Another chuckle, more of a weary huff than anything. “Yeah. Rough week.” She keeps… repeating things.  _ What’s going on?  _ Normally Jenna still talks to her, even if she’s having a rough time with Chloe. Then again, their queen bee has been pretty spectacularly awful this week. Maybe that’s why Jenna’s been spending so much time with Sachi lately.

Brooke bites her lip. “Sorry. I know… Chloe’s been pretty… hard to be around, lately.”  _ You say that as though she isn’t always such a bitch, _ points out her inner voice, which ironically enough, sounds like Chloe. She hushes it, and waits for Jenna to respond.

“Hard to be around,” echoes the other girl. Then, she seems to wake up a little more. “No, it’s alright. I’m um. I’m really glad we went out today. Besides, Jeremy’s got it much worse.”

“Ugh, I know. She’s just… not used to Jeremy and Christine sitting with us.”

No answer, again. Just the pathetic not-quite crunching of the soggy leaves.

“Christine seems to be taking it okay, though,” Brooke points out, after their second long silence.

“I know! Sometimes I wonder if it’s an act or if she even knows if she’s being insulted. I mean, I never know what to say,” Jenna murmurs.

To be fair, Brooke doesn’t know what to say to Chloe either. What are you supposed to say, when your best friend decides to attack your boyfriend with  _ “Ohmigosh, Jeremy, aren’t you going to eat your food? Food waste is a huge problem in America, it’s kind of selfish not to. Are you like, anorexic or something? You’re so skinny,” _ or, like  _ “Jeremy, I thought nerds like you were supposed to be good at math, haha,” _ or even worse, when she says  _ “I’m so glad we joined theater this year. I’m like, totally cool with gay people,” _ staring directly at him, in front of everyone in the cafeteria.

“Christine’s like, Wonder Woman. She’s been really good to Jeremy this week,” she starts.

When Chloe accused Jeremy of anorexia, Christine called the spotlight to herself, trading with Jeremy and teaching the bystanders to make her special  _ “Cafeteria Taco Salad, courtesy of the terrible, no good, very bad, salad bar and Middlesborough’s infamous pre-packaged chili!”  _ She brushes off barbs with a complete lack of social grace––but somehow, she always comes out on top, belting show tunes and bouncing off the walls. No groveling in submission from Ms. Canigula, no playing by the rules of their twisted game, no being pulled down by the oppressive gravity of the high school hierarchy.

“She’s not been the only one,” mumbles Jenna.

“Huh?”

“Standing up for Jeremy.” She looks a little embarrassed now, but at least she’s expressing a little more.

Brooke tilts her head encouragingly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean like, Rich, after the math thing.” Oh, right. Rich interrupted Chloe’s math barb by whining about his test grades in  _ “Advanced Algebra, AKA please save me from these asshole know-it-all freshmen.” _

“And… Jake. With being pan.” Jenna’s voice wobbles a little on the last part, and she looks at Brooke oddly for a minute, as if waiting for something. 

How could she have forgotten––Chloe was being her usual passive aggressive self, and Jake, out of fucking nowhere, had said  _ “Glad to hear that, Chlo, because I have an announcement for you guys. I’m pan.” _ Brooke is still tripping, but it’s nice to know she’s not the only one who’s been hiding in the closet. Also, Jake knows what pan is! Which means he might actually know like, other LGBT stuff. There’s a lot of potential.

“Yeah! I’m glad he felt able to come out. Also, that’s really nice of him, to stand up for… gay people and all.” Oops, almost gave herself away there.  _ Don’t stop, Lohst. Distract her. Keep talking, keep talking. _ “It’s pretty wild! It’s like the whole lunch group is coming together to defend Jeremy. Which is good! I really want him to be comfortable. But it’s weird, that it’s…? I don’t know. It’s just weird.” Fuck, her voice is so high pitched right now, she hopes Jenna doesn’t notice.

Her companion nods, slowly. Then, quietly, “It’s weird as fuck. Especially because they’re uniting against Choe.”

A strangled laugh scrapes its way up and out of Brooke’s throat. “Hah!”

Strangely breathless, she scrambles for something to say. “When you say it like that it sounds like she’s like, a force of evil or something. Chloe’s just… possessive. She doesn’t want to hurt people.”  _ But she would. And she does. _ She reminds her mental Chloe to shut up, and cringes.

Chloe is her best friend, and has been since the first day of kindergarten, when she decided that she liked Brooke’s pink nail polish and offered to share her fruit-scented markers. Chloe has also been popular since she was elected princess while they played pretend on the first day of kindergarten.

Chloe likes people, and once she’s decided they’re hers she doesn’t like letting go. Brooke gets it––her older sister Vanessa is a Chloe-type, which is why Mom and Dad are away, visiting her college over the weekend so she can mooch off their money with her friends. Sometimes Chloe not letting go means she digs her claws in. Sometimes digging her claws in means that Chloe doesn’t like Brooke doing extracurriculars without her, like dance (Chloe’s just not good at finding the rhythm) or robotics club (she doesn’t like the fact that it’s all guys who look at Brooke strangely, and fuck knows she doesn’t like robotics itself).

Other times, Chloe pushes people away because they like her a little too much. Jeremy isn’t the first person she’s attacked for invading the circle: there’d been Dustin Kropp, forever sidelined by a passing comment about his strange stalkerish tendencies, David Vaughn, banished once they’d broken up because he was too clingy, Madeleine Hui, disgraced for her proactive dating. Even Rich had to recover from some pretty harsh blows when he’d first entered Jake’s group of friends.

So what if every time Chloe attacks, she does this thing where she tilts her head her mouth clicks shut, only it feels more like the gates of death have just closed behind you than the demented smile of a junior in high school? Jeremy is surviving––always saved by some bystander, or technicality, or an uncharacteristically apt retort.

He’s actually surprised Brooke this week. Lots of unexpectedly witty comments crop up out of nowhere. Some are self deprecating, others are less than flattering of their friends, but all are pretty much all quick, quiet, and savage. Like when Chloe baited Seyton into making out during lunch, and everyone at the table tried to avoid eye contact and pretend that there were not currently two people sucking face. Jeremy stared at Chloe, dead on, and said  _ “If you’re feeling so lonely, Chloe, why not get a dog? You’d have so much in common,” _ before sipping his weird tea thing that Seyton always brought him during lunch.

Rich had choked on his chocolate milk, receiving several thumps on the back from a wheezing Jake while Sachi covered her own quiet smirk with her hand. Honestly, nobody should have found it as funny as they had, but Chloe  _ had _ been a bitch this week.

“Brooke?”

Blinking tiredly, she looks up. Jenna is standing by her car, waving a little awkwardly. Ooh. Right.

“Ooh. Right. Sorry. Lost in thought! Here, uhh, let me…” she swings her purse around to the front, rummaging through it for her keys. Uh-oh.

“Uh-oh,” Brooke whisper-sings, hand coming up empty. Ah! Wait! “Ah! Wait,” her hand dives into her jeans pocket, and yes, they are in fact not locked in the car like she’d feared.

She unlocks the car, casting a sheepish glance toward Jenna. Alright.

“Alright! Seatbelt, music, quick text to parents to let them know we’re not dying in a gutter somewhere, aaaaand…” she finishes sending the text. Jenna is grinning.

“Off we go,” she declares, starting the car.

It’s a bit of a drive, so Brooke turns down America’s Top 100 Country Hits and starts an apology. “Sorry I kind of ghosted on you there. I got lost in thought.”

“Right. It’s no problem,” Jenna says. “This week has been… rough,” she echoes again. Echo, echo, echo. It’s tragic, Brooke’s supreme inability to really connect with the people she cares about.

Maybe if she opens up, Jenna will, too. Worth a shot.

“Ugh, I know! First Jeremy comes into school with that bruise, and everyone started freaking out about his home situation––and he’s not super comfortable with that, because, well. Things aren’t great at home right now. But not in that way! He just fell.”

“While he was getting out of Seyton’s car.” The other girl’s voice is… odd. Thick with something.  _ Keep going. Maybe it’ll wear off. _

“Yeah! And then, Rich has been super evasive. He said we were bros, just last week! I don’t know what’s up. He’s usually more open, y’know?”

“Maybe he and Sachi are going through a rough patch.” Jenna’s voice is a little shaky under the crooning of the country star on the radio.

“Jenna? Are you alright?” She looks pale, but she nods.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Uhm. Well.”

Brooke doesn’t know whether she should keep talking or not. Maybe steer the conversation away from people? But Jenna’s always liked talking about people. She’s the biggest gossip in the school, after all.

Math. Math is a safe, universally hated subject.

“And then, yesterday––you know that precalc test Jake was whining about? Holy shit, dude.” Oops. She swore. Whatever, Jenna won’t judge her. “I took an L. Such a thicc L.”

“How many ‘c’s?” jokes Jenna.

“Enough that Ms. Davis is assigning me a math tutor!”

“Yikes, dude. Pre-calc BC sounds like an L already. I’m so glad I’m in AB, yesterday we drew squares and talked about fractions falling in love.”

“What? No way!” Brooke screeches.

Her passenger cackles. “It gets better. Todd decided that since finals week is so stressful for everyone, we could decide whether or not to have a final. He had us vote on it and everything. We’re not having one.”

“Oh my goooosh. I knew I should’ve taken AB.”

“Toooooo late,” she’s teased. “Now there’s no point in switching.”

Huffing, the blonde blows a strand out of her face. “I know. They say PC BC is even harder than AP Calc BC, so it’s like, well, I’ve suffered this much, I might as well go all the way.” Pause. “I can’t believe you guys call him by his first name.”

“He also responds to T-Dawg and Mr. Homeslice.”

“Jeez. Davis won’t even let me choose who my tutor is. I’m meeting with him once a week during lunch. I think his name is like, Michael? Michael… Mall?”

“Mell,” says Jenna, quiet again. What has she done wrong? Brooke doesn’t understand, and she keeps shutting down. “Michael Mell.”

“Yep, that’s the one!” She injects some fake cheer into the agreement, to make up for the heaviness settling over them. Luckily for Brooke’s apparent terrible social awareness, they’ve arrived at the Rolan household.

“Thanks for driving me home.” It’s still subdued. She could cry.

“No problem. Thanks for hanging out with us. I’m always glad to talk to you,” she tells Jenna, gentle and genuine.

Jenna smiles from outside the car, then falters. “Brooke?”

“Yeah?”

The other girl closes her eyes, taking a deep breath.

“I know you really… I know Jeremy’s really important to you. Just… be careful, okay? He’s going through a lot, and I… don’t want you to get hurt. Just…it’s not your fault.”

Brooke nods, a sick feeling in her stomach as Jenna walks up to her door.

She takes a few minutes to breathe before she starts the car. It’s the third time this week she’s been warned. Chloe had, of course, attacked their relationship with her usual bitchy, “ _ wow Brooke, another nerd who will cheat on you and leave you heartbroken even though he’s not even that attractive!” _ flair. But Rich had been a little more unexpected, texting to ask if she’d been invited to Jake’s party for Halloween and would she please avoid it at all costs and not bring Jeremy. It had already been too late (Jake had asked them at lunch if they were free and Jeremy had seamlessly been invited along), and it left Brooke feeling just… off. She and Rich were friends, sure, but not in the relationship or party advice way. Now, with even Jenna issuing cryptic warnings, she knows that something is wrong. She just can’t pinpoint what.

If she’s being honest, sometimes her relationship with Jeremy makes her nervous. Sometimes, Brooke thinks, Jeremy seems too perfect. Too perfect, too good at saying the right things, and yet too nervous around their friends.

But she wants him. He’s the first guy she actually might want to hang with for the sake of hanging with. It’s weird, she’s never felt attraction like this before.

When she gets home, her apartment is silent. Her toes curl with the feeling she can’t quite place, something between frustration and guilt, and she lets out a groan. Nobody is home. Nobody is here. It doesn’t matter if she swears, right? There’s nobody to know she’s shedding the good girl image.

Still, she looks around her room warily, before tilting her head back and shouting “Fuck!”

There’s a knock on the wall. Oh  _ no, _ that’s the cute college girl from the apartment down the hall. “Uh, everything okay?”

Thoroughly embarrassed, Brooke replies. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. Dropped my…” She looks around frantically for something plausible. “Laptop! On my foot. We’re all good in here.”

“Oh. Okay then. Sorry, dude!”

She hopes they don’t think she’s a total freak, but she’s seen the other girl working at Seven Eleven so she figures they’ve probably encountered weirder. Hopefully.

Brooke decides to paint her nails, instead of wallowing in shame and regret like she wants to. Besides, Jeremy had complimented her nails last time! And hopefully, if all goes well, he’ll be coming over tomorrow to, well. Hang.

But first, it’s Brooke-time. She starts off with a soothing playlist, then fills a small dish with warm water and picks her colors out. Ever since her sister started college, she gets to have the whole room to herself. No more headphones when she wants to blast Taylor, or when she goes for that ambient spa noise.

Now, time to get comfortable. Brooke slips into a robe, puts up her hair, and starts her personal manicure routine. Soothing. She’s calmed down enough that she feels confident enough to start enacting her plan.

Jeremy’s out right now, but he texts an agreement when she invites him over to “study” tomorrow. Brooke crosses her fingers and prays that for once, her plans will work out.

* * *

The next afternoon, they’re sitting on the beige couch in Brooke’s living room. Well, Jeremy is sitting on the couch. Brooke is straddling Jeremy’s lap, grinding down while they make out.

He’s hard.  _ That’s good, _ Brooke thinks.  _ As long as he’s into it. _ She keeps going. With Jeremy, it’s easy to shove down her own insecurities and moan when his hands make their way to her hips. It’s easy, and she finds she actually likes it when he starts sliding up and under the fabric of her shirt.

It’s so novel to her. Maybe that says something about her, that this is the first time in a while that she’s not sleeping with someone just so they won’t leave her. It almost feels like her first all over again.

She almost doesn’t notice Jeremy’s joints locking up and freezing in place. He’s still hard and that’s usually a pretty good indicator that she can keep going but his hands stop moving and he doesn’t respond to her kissing anymore and oh, Brooke smells Mistakes in the air. She pulls back.

“Jeremy?”

He gasps desperately, like it’s the last breath he’ll ever take. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, we can keep going, let’s keep going.”

She closes her stinging eyes, cutting off the tears before they form. _He doesn’t like me I don’t know how to make him like me without this what do I do I just want him to-_ _Enough, Brooke,_ says the brain-Chloe. _Bigger problems._ “Jeremy, we don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to. You seem kind of… panicked.”

“No, we have t- if I don’t we’ll-“ Jeremy wheezes, and she gets off of him. She sits next to him, holds his hand, breathes in deep and exhales slowly. Following her lead, Jeremy sucks in air, slowing down enough that she at least isn’t worried about hyperventilation. Brooke squeezes his hand, swallowing hard.

“You don’t have to have sex with me. You shouldn’t ever have to have sex with anyone. I don’t know why you would think- no. You don’t have to have sex to make people like you, Jeremy,” and oh, the irony. The shadows of a thousand unwanted hookups-turned-boyfriends loom behind her, and she wants to cry. Jeremy doesn’t deserve that. And maybe…  _ Maybe, _ she admits.  _ Maybe I didn’t deserve that, either. _

He withdraws his hand from hers, and digs his palms into his closed eyes, the picture of guilt. She wants to curl into a ball and never emerge.

“I’m sorry. It’s- It’s not your fault. It’s just that… I-“ he gasps again, pausing to take a few deep breaths. 

His hands fall back into his lap, but he doesn’t say anything. Brooke is surrounded by secrets, trapped by this awful silence. When will people start telling her the truth?

“It’s alright, Jeremy. This doesn’t have to be a huge problem if you don’t want it to be,” she says quietly.

_ It doesn’t have to be a huge problem if you want to keep ignoring it,  _ brain-Chloe mocks.  _ This is why people don’t tell you things. You spend all your time ignoring problems. Jeremy is not, cannot be yours. He is already someone else’s. _

Brooke sniffles. There are so many levels of wrong. _ I just want to be his girlfriend. _

Brain-Chloe scoffs.  _ You want someone to call yours. _

God, it hurts.

Finally, her (fake) boyfriend nods slowly, repeating “I’m sorry.”

_ He’s not yours. _

Brooke examines her pretty painted fingers against his palms, calmer but voice still high and shaky from the overwhelmingness of it all. She turns her hand over, opening toward him, and her thumb brushes against the wrist brace that still covers scars on his left arm.

He’s silent. Still.

Brooke sniffles, looks down at her lap again, and makes a decision.

“It’s not a problem. Why don’t we go out for Pinkberry instead?”

Jeremy looks up at her face for the first time since they’d started making out. His eyes, those pretty brown eyes that she’d thought she never could get tired of, are aching and guilty. 

_ I forgive him, _ thinks Brooke.  _ I don’t know exactly what I’m forgiving him for, yet. _

_ You want to keep him that badly?  _ Brain-Chloe is scornful.

Brooke thinks of Jenna and Rich. She thinks of Chloe.  _ Something’s not right here. He needs someone, and I can pretend long enough to be that someone. _

_ Boyfriend or not, I won’t leave him to the wolves. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brooke is... rough. i feel like we don't get a lot of characterization in the musical, but she does like, brush stuff off even tho she knows there are problematic elements. like jeremy's appreciation of eminem "even though he's kind of mean to women." or accepting chloe's apology in the woosh of a text (it's like in the blink of an eye, but more awful).  
> still, she's doing her best.
> 
> @LordEnglish,,, catch me referencing comment threads ;)


	12. let's catch up! let's smoke up! (look how many drinks i've downed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CUZ A HALLOWEEN PARTY’S A RAD EXCUSE  
> TO PUT YOUR BODY THROUGH MAD ABUSE  
> AND I MIGHT PASS OUT, BUT IT’S ALRIGHT  
> CUZ I’M HALLOWEEN PARTYING HARD TONIGHT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY THIS IS IMPORTANT:
> 
> trigger warnings (very serious trigger warnings for this chapter):  
> -references to rape and sexual harassment (basically, non-explicit non-consensual activities)  
> -victim blaming  
> -non-consensual drug usage  
> -physical assault  
> -fire (you know what i mean)  
> -and suicidal thoughts/suicide
> 
> i'm so sorry, this chapter might be super triggering, please stay safe, if there are any other things you want me to add let me know.

**October 30th, 9:03 PM (3 minutes after the official start of Jake Dillinger’s Halloween party)**

**_Valentine Household_ **

“Do you mind?” Chloe snaps, as Seyton’s eyes trail lazily along her silhouette in the mirror. “I’m trying to get changed here, you creep.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was under the impression that your goods came free.” She wants to hiss, but instead she bares her teeth in as loathing of a smile as she can muster. He doesn’t react at all. Infuriating, as usual.

As though bending to her will (they both know it’s not her will, it’s his own fucking power play, because they’re his eyes and he has the power and can look whenever he wants, even if it makes her skin crawl and the raw fury in her chest coil in on itself, scared), Seyton turns his gaze pointedly to his phone. Texting Sachi, or Jeremy. God, what a _joke_ their relationship is. Why does she even pretend?

Scoffing, she stalks angrily into the bathroom. How fucking dare he? Se slams the door behind her.

Deep breathing. Just get ready, Valentine. Then you can deal with him.

Chloe huffs, fixing her ruffles in the mirror. Wow, this costume is really fucking ugly. She still looks amazing in it. It frustrates her, a little. She pulls down the ridiculous oversized diaper to cover more of her ass. The less Seyton gets to enjoy from her admittedly rockin’ body, the better.

God, how fucking petty is that? How pathetic, that she needs to use her own sex appeal some kind of fucking weapon?

She’s always been good at riding the rules. Normally, wielding her body and makeup and language against her peers is her one major talent, but now everything is just _wrong._ She wants to take Seyton and his stupid smug face and just, ugh, _fuck_ him, make him beg for her attention and her body, but somehow everything’s been twisted around and he’s got her credit card, her nudes, and her friends in his pocket. She hates it.

She hates it like the way she hates that Brooke won’t talk to her anymore, that Brooke keeps putting Jeremy above them, that Brooke isn’t here helping her get ready because she’s busy dressing up for Jeremy and instead Chloe has to sit with the guy she’s used to replace her ex-boyfriend. Somewhere in between missing Jake and dating Seyton she’d lost her best friend, and God, it _hurts._

Chloe glares at the girl in the mirror.

“This is your fault,” she hisses. “Do something about it.”

The girl in the mirror glares back with green eyes tinged more with fear than anything.

 _You and your jealousy. That’s how we got here,_ Chloe thinks, hardening her stare. She’s always taken the green-eyed monster too literally.

She’s got two choices here. There’s the obvious one: sleep with someone. Fuck her problems away. It would be easy––Jeremy is already the ideal candidate (and how fucked up is that, that she’s got a system, a criteria for who to fuck to solve her problems?), but no. It hadn’t worked with Jake, or Seyton. It had gotten her into this mess.

(And really, it’s so _easy_ to hate Jeremy, but she knows who the real problem is, between the three of them. She is both the snake and Eve, and either way the only person who has ever won during their petty disputes is Seyton.)

The other solution requires a little more guts and a lot less class than Chloe is used to. The other choice she has is to break up with Seyton now, right before the biggest party of the fall, and then conduct herself at that party like a worthwhile person and not get drunk and fuck her problems away by accident.

She takes a deep breath, shooting one final glance toward the mirror (yep, still a sexy baby), and opens the door to face the guy she’s about to make her ex-boyfriend.

Chloe balks almost immediately. Sexton’s staring at her, mouth turned up but only on the left side of his face, in that awful infuriating (really fucking _hot_ ) smirk. Snatching up her flask Chloe takes a gulp, because Lord knows she needs more booze to deal with this, and-

Huh. This is some weirdly minty booze.

She blacks out.

When she comes to, Seyton’s standing over her.

“I can’t believe you thought you were going to break up with me,” he laughs, and she’s so _angry._ She opens her mouth to say so, but he holds up a finger and then she can’t even think about talking, whoa _what the fuck?_ She’s dazed, and she can’t push him away when he leans down and presses the smallest, barest imitation of a kiss to her lips. It’s like a bolt of electricity goes through her, such an odd rush of hormones for something so blunt and chaste, but suddenly she’s hanging on to every word that falls from his careless mouth.

“Chloe, I think you and Jeremy should hang. Connect. Get a little wrecked. Fuck him like all the spite in your body is already telling you to, because I am dumping you,” announces Seyton Quick.

Then, he leaves. Walks out. Closes the door gently, politely, like the gentleman he isn’t.

Her fingers are buzzing. That’s pretty weird, considering her arms are numb.

She starts to get up. That’s _pretty weird,_ considering _she can’t feel her legs._

As it turns out, she doesn’t have to worry about that anymore. All is as it should be. Searing flames run all through her veins, but that is okay and normal and expected, _it’s because you’re angry,_ says ~~not her brain, that’s for fucking sure~~ her brain.

What do I do about it? she asks her brain ~~Weird, weird, not right, what’s going-~~ , because she hates it, she hates it so much, this rage that feels like it’s melting her bones, her core, her admittedly few values. She hates this feeling. ~~Can’t move no control what~~

She hates it like the way she hates Jeremy Heere, who stole her best friend, her boyfriend, and the high school gaze. All that power she’d spent a lifetime building, usurped by a _loser_ who couldn’t even speak in front of a crowd without some sort of direction.

Chloe hasn’t met a problem she can’t fuck away yet. ~~help wait n~~ Jeremy is all of her problems.

 _It’s about time,_ says ~~not~~ her brain.

* * *

**October 31st, 12:27 PM (3.45 hrs into Jake Dillinger’s Halloween party)**

_**Dillinger Household** _

Jeremy takes a few deep breaths, and dives into the crowd.

He has to get Brooke some punch because _the drunker she is, the less she’ll notice if you’re too much of a coward to touch her back._

He has to go into the crowd because _popular people aren’t afraid to mingle with their subjects._

He has to wear this stupidly tight robot costume because _it emphasizes your ass, what little you have._

He has to stop thinking about it or he’ll sink deeper into the boiling pit of panic than he already is.

Everything is purple. Jeremy can’t tell if it’s the mood lighting, or the actual furniture itself. The walls, where paintings worth more than his whole life are hung, are purple. The solo cups which he swears should be red, the beer inside them brown––but instead the plastic is violet, the drink is wine. The heels abandoned on the couch, mauve. The vase that shatters when Sachi pushes Rich up against a wall to make out with him, lilac.

Jeremy swears he can feel steam rising over the crowd, and then he realizes there literally is. A group of his peers vaping, billowing their lavender essence over the ocean of twisting, grinding purple bodies. His skin is going to melt off at this rate, he thinks, and can barely hear himself over the music pounding through the house.

But he’d just told Brooke he would get her a drink. He throws a half-hearted smile at some giggling girls in low-cut costumes, trying to squeeze by without shuddering out of his skin, when he hears his name above the booming bass, and turns.

“Jeremy!” somebody murmurs, but they’re too dark against the violent violet lights to see until they’ve come far too close.

It’s Madeleine. Madeleine Hui, who puts her hand on his forearm so lightly, but his skin crawls anyway. He’s frozen, boiling, icy cold fear like the fiery pits of the hell he’s going to after she eviscerates him for his lies.

“Why didn’t you tell me we’d broken up, Jere-Bear?” asks the girl who’s supposed to be his ex-girlfriend. “I would’ve let everyone know. In fact, I would have told them we were-“

“Jeremy!” Brooke practically screeches, dragging him away by the elbow. She glares at Madeleine, whose mouth drops open in shock, and then her amber eyes go bitter and cold.

She pulls them away to a quieter part of the house, babbling things about how she’s sorry he had to see her and is he okay and other worthless, meaningless things while he chokes back the hard, sour guilt.

He needs to stop her. He needs her to go away. He needs her to not talk to Madeleine. _Stop her now, before she finds out something’s wrong._

“Brooke,” Jeremy interrupts, holding up his hands to still her concerned flailing. “I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about it.”

She bites her lip, watching him. He smiles, trying desperately to quiet his own shivering, and she seems to make a decision, nodding.

“Okay,” says Brooke. “Okay. I’m going to go find Rich, he was shouting about Mountain Dew Red. Let me know if you need anything. Don’t worry about getting home, we’ve got you, okay?”

He nods, forcing the grin to stay intact until she finally leaves, and he downs the punch and three refills.

Jeremy’s supposed to mingle, he remembers, so he stumbles reluctantly toward the dance floor, bopping with some other drunk teenagers who are screaming alongside Jake’s poor speakers. There are bodies everywhere. It’s fine, and then it’s not.

They’re sliding around him, on him, too much skin and sweat and purple steam but that’s not the problem. No, the problem starts when Chloe grabs his arm- _why do they all keep doing that,_ he wonders- and yanks him away from the dancing huddle.

Her lips are moving. He can’t hear her. He must look confused, because she leans in and shouts _she’s supposed to get him, and Brooke has a surprise._

When he asks, so, so foolishly, so fucking naively, when he asks _what kind of surprise,_ she answers _the kind where you don’t ask questions,_ and even though he knows she hates his guts, even though he knows he’s drunk, even though all the warning signs in the world are there, he goes. He goes and he doesn’t ask questions.

_You should have known something was wrong._

He should have known, but he hadn’t and he’d gone, and now he’s here in _Jake’s parents’ room._

Jeremy knows- he thinks- he doesn’t want this. He’s so fucking scared. It’s funny, actually. Really. Of fight or flight, he chooses neither. He freezes. Every limb locks into place, leaving him so _perfectly compliant_ under Chloe while she unzips the top of his costume.

He’s frozen, when Brooke knocks on the door, calling for him.

He’s frozen, when Jake slams himself into the door, bellowing at Chloe.

He’s frozen, when Jake crashes through the window, when Chloe finally gets off and starts screaming back.

And even after he falls off the bed, scrambling away and out the door, he’s frozen when he sees Brooke, who has one hand over her mouth, the other wrapped around herself. Brooke, who has tears in her eyes and who has to hold herself tight because nobody else does, because he’s such a fucking asshole and he’s been fucking cheating on her this whole time, _so why is it worse that this time it’s with Chloe?_

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, and sprints down the hall.

He finds a bathroom. Another hand descends upon him, his shoulder this time, and he yelps and turns and it’s a monster, _Jeremy’s going to be murdered by someone in a fursuit._

He’s not sure what to do when he sees Michael emerging from the monster costume in the bathroom. He feels relieved, safe, for about half a second––and then he remembers he and Michael don’t talk anymore, and he holds his breath and hopes Michael won’t bring their argument up, hopes that Michael will see him and hold him and fix things and Michael _doesn’t._ Michael brings it up, and it turns out Jeremy’s not frozen, just the part of him that is still capable of being a good person.

He yells at Michael, leaves the bathroom feeling just a little worse, but that’s nothing unusual these days. _Everything about you is terrible._

When Seyton grabs him just below the back of his neck, he gives a full body shudder, yanks himself away.

“Jeremy,” he growls, and Jeremy immediately retracts, putting himself back under Seyton’s hand. “Stop being a freak,” he mutters, just under his breath.

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy replies, toneless but obedient. He accepts the green drink Seyton’s handing him and downs it like he’s supposed to, because he’s clearly too fucked up to not drink it. It’s like it’s both the punishment and the cure for his defective personality.

 _If you can’t be a decent person naturally, store-bought is fine,_ says his brain, and an overwhelming wave of self-hatred washes over him. He’s such a fucking mess.

Honestly, what would he do without Seyton? He leans into his boyfriend, and the other boy takes a measured glance around the room, then lifts Jeremy’s chin and presses a kiss to his lips. On instinct, he kisses back, and then remembers why he loves kissing Seyton when that sweet rush of hormones hits.

What would he do without Seyton? He looks adoringly into those electric blue eyes, ignoring the gasps around them at the party, oblivious to the ensuing pandemonium now that they know he’s dating Seyton.

Jeremy nuzzles Seyton’s collarbone. It’s been a long day, but he still has Seyton Quick.

“I love you,” he mumbles.

Above his head, Seyton smirks. “I know,” he says simply.

They get into Seyton’s car. That beautiful Jaguar usually never fails to excite Jeremy. But tonight, every curve is highlighted by the purple lights glowing from inside the house. Tonight, the passenger seat feels just a little like the belly of the beast. Tonight, the cheers of his classmates as Seyton kisses him one more time before starting the engine feel just a little more like a death knoll.

He still lets Seyton take him home.

He goes and he doesn’t ask questions.

_You should have known something was wrong._

Jeremy should have known, but he hadn’t and he’d gone, and now he’s here in Seyton’s bedroom.

* * *

 

**October 31st, 1:14 AM (4.23 hrs into Jake Dillinger’s Halloween party)**

**_Dillinger Household_ **

Rich can’t take it anymore. Jeremy’s leaving, but he can’t go home with Seyton. He’s walking out the door, but Rich can’t let him get into that car. He exits in the middle of the convoluted story Jake’s telling, takes a shortcut through the kitchen hoping he can cut them off, and then Sachi steps into his path.

He can’t stop in time, so he bumps into her and she yelps, drawing the gazes of everyone in the kitchen. They clear out quickly once he glares them off. Perks of routinely beating people up behind the school to assert your dominance.

“Don’t stop me,” Rich says. He thinks he sounds pretty confident, considering he’s basically begging her right now.

“Don’t stop them,” Sachi challenges.

“You- He’s drugged, Jeremy’s been drugged. That’s rape, they-“

“He’s not drugged.”

“Wh- I just saw him drink it! You can’t lie to me, he’s- he’s-”

“Richard. He’s not drugged,” Sachi laughs, and something inside him goes hard and determined.

“I’m not going to let you stop me this time.” Rich’s hands curl into fists. It’s still so strange, wanting to protect someone he’s beaten down for so long. It’s so strange, but he would fucking die for Jeremy. It’s his mess, after all.

“Richard. Put those fists away,” she says, picking up a kitchen knife warningly. His scar itches. He makes his fingers unclench. Fuck, he doesn’t have time for this, he needs to get to Jeremy.

“Jeremy hasn’t been drugged,” she soothes, gesturing with the knife. Sachi takes a cup of something from the countertop, and pours it out onto the floor. “In fact, Jeremy has received Squip only once in his life. The day Seyton and Jeremy met.”

He won’t rise to her bait, but the _what?_ hangs very obviously in the air between them, so she continues to explain, smirking.

“Well, it’s not like he needs it.” Another two bottles are emptied onto the wooden paneling. “Neither did you, after all the training I put you through."

Fuck. That’s not a lie. “You see, Richard, most people just need a little push. All I did was nudge you every once in a while––and then you were shoving freshmen into lockers all on your own!” She pushes him to his knees, still holding the knife, and runs her hand through his hair. He doesn’t even try to push her away.

“Jeremy needed a little bigger push, but after that first dose of Squip, he’s been a very good boy. He just loves being told what to do.” It’s all so fucking wrong, he needs to get out he needs to help Jeremy. She yanks on his hair. Then, mercifully, she lets him drop his head, defeated.

“You, on the other hand, have started to be just a little bit too much of a liability. So, I’m giving you a choice.” There’s a click above his head.

Rich looks up, and sees a tiny flame flickering above him.

She’s holding a lighter.

“Richard,” she starts, smiling sweetly down. Her face is haloed by the glaring kitchen light above her head. “You’re going to drink some Squip now.”

There’s an ‘or’ coming.

“Or I’m going to set a fire in this kitchen.”

In the next millisecond, a list of names goes through his head.

 _JakeChristineDustinMadeleineLisaBrendanHunterMikeAlexAlecAlexisVeronicaLaurenDavidDavidJohnJennaMatthew-_ It’s not even a choice.

There are too many people still here, and between his free will and their lives, well. It’s not like his choices have been stellar lately anyway. He takes the drink she’s holding––three quarters empty already, not that it matters.

Rich drinks.

Sachi sighs, runs her hands through his hair again. “Good boy, Richard,” and he wants to die. He’s failed Jeremy. He’s lied to Jake. He’s fucked over so many people, and he’s about to fuck over a lot more.

She presses a chaste kiss to his lips and a shock travels through him. He can almost feel himself being rewired, every cell in his body coming alive with the desperate need to please her and wow, he hasn’t felt that in a long time.

“I’ll miss you, Richard,” says Sachi. “When I go, you’re going to find more alcohol, and you’re going to dump it out here. And then you’re going to stand in the middle, and light it up.”

She goes.

And.

And?

And the funny thing is, he doesn’t even need the Squip to do most of it. Spilling the alcohol, standing in the middle. He already wanted to die. His biggest regret is that it’s Jake’s house, and there are people here. But there’s not much he can do. He has to obey.

He takes a deep breath, shouts “fire!”, and takes a minute to listen to the screams that ensue.

And then, Rich sets a fire and he burns down the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit guys i am so sorry this chapter is 1) HELLA LATE and 2) such a mess  
> (im a bad person and this was fun to write)  
> uhm thank you so much for all the feedback last chapter? i'm in tears?
> 
> it's been wild, second semester is kicking my ass, i am dying at all times. also im part of ensemble for the spring play and its such a mess, one of my friends literally described it as "the director testing our loyalty to the drama department." OOF.
> 
> I will keep writing this, though! i'm so sorry i'm taking so long.
> 
> (SIDENOTE: i meant to publish this yesterday, but it was my birthday and i went out with friends and was exhausted by how much i love them. blame marckynarks, basically)
> 
> so, because of spacing and the fact that i desperately need to move the plot forward, there will be a lot of POV shifts in the next few chapters. sorry. it be like that.
> 
> the word 'fuck' has now been used over 100 times over the course of this fic. hooray! these characters are suffering.
> 
> (CUZ A HALLOWEEN PARTY’S A RAD EXCUSE  
> TO PUT YOUR FAVORITE CHARACTERS THROUGH MAD ABUSE)
> 
> i love you all, thank you so much, have a wonderful week and please leave a review!!!!


	13. by the grace of god

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there was no other way.
> 
> Jenna's world is falling apart.
> 
> shoutout to alysanne blackwood, imagine that you're christine in this.
> 
> TW (also, spoilers but this is important):  
> references to nonconsensual drug use.  
> descriptions of fire as like, a traumatic event.  
> descriptions of the ensuing panic and trauma.  
> homophobia, and people getting kicked out of homes. 
> 
> stay safe lovely people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am. so sorry. i've had two different shows im working in, and AP testing, and the SAT, and the ACT, and a wedding, and i have just been back and forth and all over the place.
> 
> on the bright side, i got to perform Two Player Game with one of my favorite people in the entire world. on the less bright side, I've had the flu for three days from swimming in 45 degree water, and my micro final is tomorrow. oops.

**October 31st, 1:18 AM (4.30 hrs into Jake Dillinger’s Halloween party)**  
_**Dillinger Household**_  
  
_“Good boy, Richard,”_ says Sachi Quipton to Richard Goranski in the Dillinger household kitchen at the biggest party of the year on Halloween night, while the rest of the student body raves on obliviously. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  
  
(On a scale of one to ten, Jenna would probably rate her emotional state at a Freaking the _Fuck_ Out.)  
  
Jenna runs-tiptoes- _flees_ away from the kitchen and into a quieter hallway. Rich is probably fucked. Rich is drinking from whatever bottle Sachi’s giving him, and Rich is fucked.  
  
(They’re all fucked.)  
  
She’s been pressed against Jake’s kitchen door, eavesdropping on Rich and Sachi’s struggle for the past five minutes now. She still doesn’t know what had drawn her to eavesdrop on Sachi.  
  
(Sachi’s so nice! So sweet. She had listened to Jenna and invited her places. Really. Jenna should know by now. Nobody listens to her because they like her.)  
  
Her stomach feels sick.  
  
(Sachi had mentioned, once or twice, that lesbians are gross. But that’s just homophobia. Not like Jenna hasn’t heard it at home before. Chloe had nodded, snidely adding that those kinds of people should keep their noses out of people’s business. She’d meant ‘don’t hit on straight girls.’ But Seyton had made direct eye contact with Jenna and tilted his head at her, and Jenna hadn’t spoken for the rest of the day.)  
  
She looks down at her cup, which has been mostly untouched, and tries to remember when she got her drink.  
  
(She’s been played this whole time. Sachi has been the carrot to Seyton’s stick, keeping Jenna’s nose out of their shady-ass business, and Jenna has been letting her cover it all up.)  
  
Okay. Okay. She had already been by the punch table when Sachi arrived at the party, a tasteful ten minutes late. She never put it down. Her drink is safe. Good. Her stomach settles a little. Jenna had greeted her and been brushed off, and then Sachi had headed over to grab a drink herself.  
  
(She had watched as Sachi poured a 24-liter bottle of Mountain Dew and a box of pills into the punch bowl and some other drinks. Jenna is _not_ safe. Sachi doesn’t have to play the carrot anymore. They have the world’s biggest stick: mind control.)  
  
Jenna still wants to throw up.  
  
(It’s too late for her to stop them now. She let them get away with this—but at the same time, what other option did she have? Jenna knows too much. Jenna knows too _fucking_ much, and it’s going to be the end of her.)  
  
She’s still busy freaking out when Sachi grabs her by the front of her clown costume.  
  
“Jenna! There you are!” Sachi grins, looking her up and down. Calculating brown eyes take in Jenna’s drink. Jenna’s own eyes stutter over vibrant red cloak Sachi sports, because _of course_ she chose a couple’s costume. Rich dresses as the Big Bad Wolf so nobody ever suspects that his Red Riding Hood is plotting against the whole school.  
  
“How many drinks have you had?” the other girl asks, nudging her playfully, but Jenna knows better by now. Still, she’s too freaked to do anything but shrug and hope it’s convincing.  
  
“Really? Wow, you must be pretty hammered, huh? Party girl,” and Sachi giggles. Has she been drinking, too? This is the bubbliest Jenna’s ever seen her. Then the giggling demon in red leans closer.  
  
“Pretty wild of you, Jenna. I like that,” she says, and kisses Jenna on the lips.  
  
When she opens her eyes, Sachi is blinking coquettishly at her.  
  
“Hey Jenna?” she murmurs. “Go help Rich set that fire.”  
  
The pounding bass shakes the house. Jenna’s pounding heart shakes her body. She’s stuck. She can’t. Sachi leaves, but there are four girls Jenna recognizes from cheer, and they’re whispering, and they have their phones out.  
  
_Out. Out. Out._  
  
She should have switched schools. Should’ve found some way to convince her parents to let her go somewhere else. Everyone here _hates_ her. Fuck. Her parents would’ve wanted to know _why._ Mom already thinks she’s a lesbian. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She’s going to be kicked out.  
  
Jenna darts into a closet, presses herself against the wall, tries to slow down her breathing. The door lets in a sliver of purple light, but Jenna turns her face away from it. Her chest is spasming. ( _Out. Out. Out._ )  
  
By the end of the night, Jenna will, somehow, be silenced.  
  
Jenna’s going to die.  
  
_Out. Out. Out._  
  
Her brain is stuck on the words, they pound in her head to the same thunder-drum beat in her ribcage. She shouldn’t be surprised, but Sachi had been protecting her. Well. Sort of. Not really. Obviously.  
  
Her hands are too warm, too damp, she rubs them on her stupid clown costume while she tries to stop her racing thoughts long enough to know what to do.  
  
Sachi wants her to set a fire with Rich. Sachi thinks Jenna is under her control.  
  
She has to do something. Jenna’s got a choice. She’s one of the only people here who does.  
  
Last time. Last time she’d tried to help, they’d threatened her. Last time she hadn’t even managed to _save_ Jeremy, just complicate things even more. She’s past that now. She’s basically already dead.  
  
Her chest squeezes. Fuck. She wants to cry.  
  
But. But. But.  
  
The word is a call to action in rhythm with her heart.  
  
This is bigger than that. This is bigger than Jeremy, or Brooke. It’s bigger than Jenna.  
  
In the darkness of her closet, sheltered from the pounding bass, Jenna takes one deep breath. She can do this. She’ll do it, for her friends and for the school. No more hiding.  
  
Jenna comes out of the closet, scans the blessedly empty hallway. Okay. Her eyes flick toward the kitchen she just recently fled. And in the next instant, a three realizations realizations strike at once.  
  
1) Sachi told her to help Rich start _‘that’_ fire.  
  
2) That means Rich is already setting a fire.  
  
3) This is the biggest party of the year. Everyone who knows anyone is currently in this house about to be set ablaze.  
  
A strangled croak escapes her mouth, and she takes two half-steps toward the kitchen. And of course, her timing is wrong. Because in that moment, Rich bellows _“Fire!”_ , and the chorus of screams starts.  
  
Fuck.  
  
A surge of _move now_ carries her barging through the door. The heat is intense. Flames dance in a huge pool of alcohol. Red crackles and snatches its way up purple walls, claiming as much of the kitchen as it can, and Rich. Rich stands in the middle, empty eyed and empty handed. A lighter sits in that pool of alcohol and Jenna screams his name even as she stumbles back from the blaze. But it’s too late, it’s already spreading. The doorway is haloed in fiery wrath. Smoke gushes out into the hallway.  
  
The kitchen ceiling caves in. Her body decides she needs to move. Jenna turns and runs, screaming _“Fire!”_ and pounding on walls and doors. She pulls Madeleine out of a closet, shoves Ryan toward a staircase. Fuck. Rich. She sees a light on in the bathroom and hammers on the door. It doesn’t open. She flashes back to that time Chloe got wasted and blacked out in Jake’s bathtub. Fuck. No! Jenna kicks down the door, and Michael Mell screams.  
  
Perfect. Of course. She glances back and the fire is Way Too Close for this shit.  
  
“Fire!” shouts Jenna, directly into Michael’s tear-stained, terrified face, then yanks him out. Then BRIGHTHOTLOUD explodes behind them and they both jolt into action. She doesn’t let go of him as they leap down the stairs. When he trips over the spot where a wall used to be he takes her down with him. The air above them is thick and heavy, and Jenna can’t breathe.  
  
This time it’s Michael who shouts, dragging her forward. “Get low and go!” he yells, and she struggles behind him on her hands and knees. Pre-school fire-safety flashbacks. She’s going to die. Her eyes sting, she can’t stop coughing. He keeps looking at her with terror in his eyes, keeps urging her forward and when they finally see the door, Jenna doesn’t thinks she can make it. There’s burning plaster everywhere, the smoke is like a blanket and the door is just too far. It’s too much. There’s no way she can make it, there’s no way for Michael to carry her and Rich is still inside the building, and she just. Can’t. She’ll die here. She’s going to die. She’s fucked. Holy sh-  
  
Michael pulls her the rest of the way out through the wreck of a front door. She’d never stopped moving, apparently. She’d made it to the door without ever having realized, Michael dragging her with him. Heaving, he and some other people get her onto the lawn. She breathes cold November air and bawls.  
  
There’s a gap in Jenna’s memory here, where she just. Doesn’t know what’s going on. She thinks there’s something about EMTs and home, but she’s too out of it to understand. When she comes to, for real wakes up, she’s sitting in the backseat of Michael Mell’s car with Christine Canigula, and he’s resting his forehead on the wheel.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she rasps, and of course, her timing sucks, because at the exact same time Michael murmurs “You saved my life.”  
  
Timing. Wrong.  
  
Rich.  
  
Everything at this moment in time- No. Everything at every moment that has ever existed in the history of the universe. Is terrible. Both Christine and Michael look confused when Jenna starts crying again.  
  
“I- What do you mean?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Jenna repeats, through her sobbing. Everything comes spilling out. “Rich set- Rich set a fire and burned. He burned it down. He burned it because Sachi told him to, and I left. I left. I- he was in there and I couldn’t- I couldn’t- And I couldn’t-“ Fuck. She can’t breathe.  
  
“Jenna, stop. _Breathe,”_ Christine urges, putting a hand on Jenna’s shoulder. Michael looks panicked. He reaches out, recoils, hovers awkwardly.  
  
Jenna sucks in air. She holds it in her lungs, then lets it all out in one burst. She inhales again and shudders and exhales. She fights to keep breathing until it finally comes easier, and then she thinks.  
  
“I couldn’t stop him from burning down the house,” she whispers. “I let them get away with hurting Jeremy and now they’ve got the whole school under their control, Jeremy and Brooke and Chloe and everyone who drank anything at that party.”  
  
“Fuck,” says Michael.  
  
“What?” says Christine.  
  
When she looks up, Michael’s face is pinched, twisted into that awful expression of fear from the fire and Jenna. Can’t. She closes her eyes. He knows. He knows.  
  
“You were- you were in that parking lot at the same time as me,” Michael guesses. “You heard something they didn’t want you to hear, about J- Jeremy. And you didn’t do anything about it.”  
  
Eyes closed, Jenna nods.  
  
“What’s going on with Jeremy?” asks Christine worriedly.  
  
Jenna hears Michael snort, and lean back in the driver’s seat. She hazards a glance––his glasses are pushed up, hands pressed to the back of his eyelids. “Besides his low-key abusive relationship with a psychopath? He’s probably under mind control.”  
  
“You guys keep saying that. Mind control,” Christine echoes. “What does that mean? You can’t- That’s not real, is it?”  
  
She can feel Michael looking at her, but she doesn’t speak up. (She hates herself for it. Always there for the gossip, never there when it matters.) “I don’t know. I’ve been researching, but I wasn’t sure until now. Jenna?” He doesn’t sound as angry as he should be, but there’s an undercurrent of tightness.  
  
She takes a deep breath, eyes still closed. Jenna owes him this. “It’s. In the drinks. They put it in the drinks. It makes you want to listen to them. They’ve been using it on Jeremy and they used it on Rich to make him set the fire. Sachi thinks I’m under it. She asked me if I had been drinking to see if I was drugged, and then she kissed me.”  
  
Michael speaks again. She watches him warily. “Quiksalve Industries… produced a drug two years ago called Squip. They’ve been keeping really quiet about it, but I found some work done by their scientists in the Japanese division. Everything I know is google translated, so,” he shrugs, helplessly. It’s more than Jenna has done.  
  
“Anyway. Squip is… It’s very experimental, super exclusive. They market it as a drug to heighten brain activity, increase productivity. I guess that makes sense.” Here Michael snorts, smiling grimly. “It replaces your will with the person who gives it to you. You’re more useful to them.”  
  
They sit in silence for a while, processing that information. Jenna feels herself sinking and squeezes her eyes shut to stop the tears before they start up again. Christine and Michael have had enough of her crying. (If she’d just told someone, they could’ve stopped this. Somehow. Michael could’ve talked to Jeremy, or… Jenna could have talked to Rich. Or something. But. Her parents. She hadn’t been able to afford it. It’s all too late, and Jenna is fucked on all sides.)  
  
“Oh,” says Michael. She opens her eyes. He looks vaguely sick. “Oh. I didn’t understand where it was going at first but. The drug is especially strong if you have intense feelings toward the person in control. Any intense feelings. Even if you hate them. But one of the other things that was supposed to make it stronger is if the person drugged receives some sort of genetic information from the controller.”  
  
“What?” says Christine. Jenna is similarly confused.  
  
“Your spit has your genetic information in it. Kissing makes Squip stronger. That’s why she kissed you, Jenna. That’s why Seyton has such a strong hold over Jeremy. He’s constantly feeding him the drug and constantly reinforcing it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He puts his head in his hands again.  
  
Jenna wishes she was still stuck inside that building. She wishes she was dead. She wishes…  
  
She wishes Jeremy Heere was safe. She wishes Rich Goranski hadn’t ever met Sachi Quipton. She wishes she could do something. She wishes she was strong enough. Her determination had burned out with the fire.  
  
“Guys,” starts Christine. She looks into both of their faces, and takes a deep breath. “I’m really sorry. This is the worst night, ever. I still don’t really understand what’s going on. I know we just got out of a seriously traumatic experience and we need to take care of ourselves, but we need to do something,” she pleads, voice breaking on the last part as she takes in the utter hopelessness in their eyes. “We… We have to stop them somehow,” she murmurs.  
  
Jenna doesn’t understand Christine. She’s so strong and aloof from their despair and Jenna can’t even fathom how she can already be so focused on helping people after the disasters of tonight. (Jenna wishes she could be like Christine.)  
  
Michael voices the question Jenna is too afraid to ask. “How?” he croaks.  
  
“I don’t know. I don’t know enough of what’s going on. Is there… Is there a cure? How can we find out?” She pauses. “Who can we even trust?”  
  
Oh. Wait. This is information. Jenna can do this. This is her _Thing._  
  
Michael is shrugging, Christine biting her lip when Jenna drags herself forward. “Names. I can do this. Let’s start with names.” Fuck. She immediately regrets saying anything when they look at her hopefully.  
  
“Okay, what do you know about who is involved?” she asks. It’s too broad, Jenna needs more specific terms but doesn’t know how to ask for it. She casts a look at Michael, who is getting out his phone. He intercepts her need.  
  
“Who is distributing the drug?” Better. This question is easy.  
  
“Sachi and Seyton.”  
  
“Who did they drug tonight? How did they do it?”  
  
“They slipped it into the punch and the stupid drinking game thing Jake was doing with Ryan. Anyone who came or drank after 9:30 would have been drinking it.” Fuck. Jenna had been there. She should’ve done something. “I- I didn’t know what it was until Rich,” she stutters. Fuck. She should’ve known. Christine grabs her hand, nodding as she urges Jenna on.  
  
“Okay,” says Christine, voice wavering. “So we can assume that, of our immediate friends, Chloe, Brooke, Jake, Rich, and Jeremy are compromised.”  
  
Jenna nods.  
  
“Rich and Jeremy have probably been getting dosed multiple times,” Christine adds.  
  
“I’m not so sure. Sachi told Rich that Seyton only drugged Jeremy once, and that she stopped needing to drug Rich after a while. I don’t know. She could be lying, or she could be telling the truth.”  
  
“Okay. Well. Half the school’s been drugged,” summarizes Michael. He rakes his fingers through his hair, yanking on the dark strands. (Relatable. Jenna would like to claw and yank, too, but Christine is holding her hand.) “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do. I don’t know what we can do.”  
  
“What about a cure?”  
  
A cure? Can they really cure something like this? Michael furrows his brow. “I can’t find anything about a cure, but I also only had surface level access to their information.”  
  
Oh. Access! “Dustin Kropp!” she blurts.  
  
“What?” Christine looks really tired of repeating that question.  
  
“Sorry. Dustin Kropp. Has a cousin. Who hacks things. Like, he could hack the Batcave. And, incidentally, he was part of a Japanese exchange program last summer. We can get him to hack Quiksalve and look for a cure.”  
  
The others exchange a wary glance. “How do we know we can trust him?”  
  
Valid. A very good point. The hopelessness threatens to come rushing back in, but Jenna looks at Christine Caligula’s hand in hers and pushes back. “Dustin doesn’t drink, so that buys us a little bit of time. But other than that, we’ll just have to move fast and tell him what we know.”  
  
“Okay,” says Christine, nodding determinedly. Jenna whips out her phone, shooting off a quick Facebook message to Harvey Kropp. Her eyes catch on a text notification.  
  
Eighteen notifications. Yikes. She opens the app––they’re all from her younger sister Leah.  
  
_From Leeeeah:_

> JENNA OMG ARE YOU OKAY  
>  JENNA I HEARD THERE WAS A FIRE  
>  JENNA DO YOU KNOW IF SIA IS OKAY  
>  SHE TOLD ME SHE WAS GOING TO BE THERE TONIGHT  
>  jen omg pls text when you get this we’re so worried  
>  all i can do is watch people’s stories this is terrifying  
>  please answer

  
That was at 1:57 AM, after the fire.  
  
“Fuck, I need to go home,” she says. Michael nods. He pauses to text his moms, and work out some sort of agreement about driving home.  
  
She stops reading for a minute to compare addresses with Christine. They’re stopping at Jenna’s first, since it’s closer, then Michael will drop off Christine and his moms will meet him there, since they don’t want him driving alone after tonight. Jenna bites her lip, opening the text app again, and her phone dies.  
  
“Fuck. Can I borrow your charger?” He hands it over. Her phone takes a minute to boot up and she sends a text back to Leah to let her know she’s three minutes away, and she’s safe. Ish.  
  
She scrolls back up to the remaining eleven texts she hasn’t read yet, and goes cold.  
  
_From Leeeeah:_

> brooke says she’s already back please tell me you’re out with someone  
>  you were supposed to come home with brooke  
>  Jenna text me back as soon as you get this don’t come home yet  
>  jenna holy shit i’m so sorry  
>  we were so worried we were watching people’s stories why’d you let them post it  
>  jenna holy shit mom is flipping out  
>  jenna text me back as soon as you get this  
>  text me back  
>  Jenna I swear to God if you’re dead and this is the last thing we have from you I’m going to murder you  
>  jen dad is flipping  
>  jen I’m scared are you safe

  
“We’re here,” Michael tells her. She looks up. They are.  
  
“Jenna?” Christine’s voice is soft.  
  
“I’m really sorry about this but there’s actually one more thing I might need to deal with,” Jenna whispers. They look uncertain and confused at her. Christine offers to walk her to the door, but Jenna is pretty sure that’s a bad idea. (If it’s what she thinks it is. She asks them to wait for her, says she’ll text if it’s all ok, but that she, well. They’ll have to see.)  
  
She walks up to the porch, leaves crunching solidly beneath her feet. She checks her phone––Leah hasn’t responded. Jenna knocks softly on the front door.  
  
Her younger brother Levi opens it. “Jenna! You’re okay!”  
  
“Oof,” goes Jenna, suddenly tackled by eighty pounds of relieved third grader.  
  
Leah appears next. “Jenna!” She’s been crying, but she wraps her arms around Jenna.  
  
Finally, her brother Samson comes out. Samson is a senior at a different school, stoic and tall. Sam hugs her, worry creasing his face like she’s never seen before. “We thought you were dead,” he mumbles into her hair, then pulls back all of a sudden.  
  
“Jenna,” he tells her, voice low and sad. “You need to go.”  
  
A voice from the living room calls out. “I hope that’s not Jenna you’re all talking to out there,” says Jenna’s mom, voice harsh and yet watery, like she’s been crying. “Because she is most definitely _not_ welcome in this house.”  
  
Jenna’s mouth. Falls open. In soft, completely foreseen horror. Leah is pushing a backpack into her hands. “Jenna, I grabbed you clothes and money, I’m so sorry, they saw you kissing Sachi on someone’s story from the party, you need to leave.” She knew this would happen, she knew she’d get kicked out, but everything around her is crumbling and she’s not _ready._  
  
Jenna sends up a prayer. She hopes someone is listening, hopes they don’t hate her as much as her parents do. She sends out a cry for help and feels it swallowed up by the chasm of fear in her chest.  
  
“Jenna,” Leah is saying, somewhere far away. “You have to go.”  
  
_Jenna needs her computer._  
  
She hears her name again, and it’s Dad, and he’s angry, and thundering toward the front. She can barely hold the backpack, she’s shaking so bad. He’s shouting something about _no daughter of mine_ and _dykes in my house_ and Sam leaves her side and cuts him off, holds Dad back while Levi wails _don’t hurt Jenna!_ (She’s tearing the family apart.) Leah is pleading with her to take the backpack and _leave,_ and Jenna needs her computer, needs her notes. There’s no time. She races up the stairs and Leah slams the door behind her, locking it.  
  
“Jenna,” she pants, tears still streaming down her face. The shouting downstairs gets louder.  
  
“I need these,” Jenna explains, voice shaking. Of the three major disasters, this is one she actually can’t deal with. (She doesn’t have time. She only has desperation.) “I’m sorry. I’ll leave. But there’s something going on at school. Sachi’s blackmailing me,” Leah’s eyes grow wider, Jenna keeps talking.  
  
“I would’ve told you if it was for real. But they’re spreading drugs at school and Sachi Quipton is over all of it and you need to stay safe,” Jenna shoves her computer in the backpack, grabs her notebooks and pens, and a box from inside her dresser. Leah needs to stay safe. How? She sends up another prayer. (If not me, her. _Please.)_  
  
“Don’t drink anything at school,” she starts. “Don’t let Sam or Levi drink anything either.” Not enough. “Don’t talk to Sachi or Seyton, or anyone at that party, and if Sia offers you something, food or drugs or _whatever,_ say no,” and there’s a pounding up the stairs. Dad’s almost here. “Please, Leah, I’ll leave but I need you to promise me you won’t.”  
  
“Jenna, what the _fuck,”_ Leah stammers miserably, and it’s not enough. Time’s up. Dad is at the door threatening to knock it down.  
  
“I love you.” Jenna throws open the window and pops out the screen. Swinging the backpack half onto her shoulder, she clambers out, and slides onto the roof. (Fuck. Fuck. This is a terrible idea. The shouting, banging turmoil behind her says there’s no other option.)  
  
She crawl-slithers along the roof until she hits the tree. A great crack sounds and she startles before realizing that no, it’s not the tree, it’s her bedroom door. (Leah is screaming. Shit. Don’t hyperventilate. Keep moving.)  
  
“Jenna!” Holy shit. She almost falls out of the tree. It’s Christine. “Throw me your bag!” She does.  
  
Now marginally more maneuverable, she grabs the tree and struggles down. Keep moving. She pushes through, climbing down through the sound of her Dad finally breaking her door, through Leah shouting and him hollering at her. Christine yanks her out of the way in time to avoid her precalc textbook, which he throws at her from the window. Jenna stares up into the house, and he’s there, heaving in anger, and Leah is terrified.  
  
Christine drags her into the car.  
  
Michael takes one looks at them and guns it to Christine’s house. “So, you’re sleeping over,” Christine announces, voice shaking.  
  
“Thank you,” she manages in return. She’s shivering so hard. (Everything at every moment that has ever existed in the history of the universe is terrible.)  
  
She tries to scrub at her face, but she’s just too shaky. Christine unbuckles her seatbelt and pulls her into a hug. Jenna starts sobbing, for the billionth time tonight.  
  
“I wasn’t out. They saw Sachi kiss me, I-“ She can’t. She can’t she can’t she can’t. Christine holds her, and Michael drives them home.  
  
The Canigulas are understanding, sympathetic. They make both girls hot chocolate and give them space. Jenna stops crying, hugs her knees and struggles to comprehend how her entire world could fall apart in one night. Christine stays with her, holding her hand, petting her hair, listening and hoping and planning.  
  
In the ashes of the night, Jenna finds a little bit of hope. Harvey messages back on Facebook. He’ll help, for free even. (She wants to sleep for a year. It won’t be enough.)  
  
They set up a a blow-up bed next to the couch in Christine’s living room so that Jenna doesn’t have to be alone. They turn off the lights. Jenna whispers into the dark. “I wish I was strong enough.”  
  
Christine turns over, grabs her hand for also the billionth time tonight. (Christine is the best and most perfect person in the world. Jenna doesn’t know anymore, if anyone is listening, but she sends up a thank you for Christine Caligula while she cries.)  
  
“Jenna, you _are._ You survived. You got out of the fire, you got the information and the people we need, you left your home. You are strong.” Jenna doesn’t want to believe her, but the way she squeezes her hand feels like hope.  
  
“We will make it through this,” Christine says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so basically, i'm really sorry about jenna, but i did let christine hug her!!
> 
> jenna as of its arabic origin is "heaven"  
> but as a variant of jean in hebrew, it means "god's grace"
> 
> i promise next chapter there will be more actual not-depressing material


	14. what up, i'm seyton, I’m nineteen, and i never fuckin learned how to love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Literally the title + Rich wakes up in the hospital.
> 
> TW (spoilers, but important):  
> -rape aftermath. no explicit discussion of the rape, but victim blaming, guilt, and associated trauma  
> -seriously negative self talk, slut shaming  
> -abusive, manipulative behavior
> 
> Stay safe, kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS IM SO SORRY I'VE BEEN GONE FOR FOREVER I KNOW.  
> firstly, omg thank you so much for your comments, they pulled me back from dark places and writers block and are 90% of the reason i tried so hard to get this out to you guys.  
> so! I've been in china, church camp, then doing a lot of airplane flying lesson shenanigans, i had my heart broken, and im under incredible stress to complete a bunch of last minute projects/applications. i did really well on all my tests this year so i'm happy, but oh boy am i stressed.  
> anyway! HEED THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. omg this chapter.

**October 31st, 9:28 AM**  
**Saturday morning.**  
**_Quick Household_ **

Jeremy lies perfectly still on Seyton Quick’s bed. He doesn’t shiver, or squirm. _Not that there’s a reason to._ Everything he could be scared of has already happened. _It’s fine._

Jeremy lies perfectly still in Seyton Quick’s room. The sun is up, by now. The sun is up, but the light creeping through Seyton’s shades is cold and weak. It’s enough, though. It’s light enough that he can drag his eyes along the familiar silhouette taking up the rest of the bed.

Jeremy lies perfectly still in Seyton Quick’s arms. His eyes keep wandering over those shoulders, and getting stuck. He can’t seem to move them past that neck. Seyton’s phone chimes softly in the background. Jeremy tenses. The motion makes his skin pull painfully and he immediately goes slack again.

_Please don’t wake up._ The rush of fear is almost embarrassing. He doesn’t understand why it even happens. There’s nothing _wrong._ There’s no reason for him to be afraid that… That Seyton will wake up. _Being a fucking moron, as usual._

Seyton hasn’t done anything wrong. _You should be happy._ They’d… Jeremy had wanted this. He’d been thinking about it for the longest time. And it was the real deal. They’d… They’d gone all the way.

His eyes hurt from staring. They sting, from holding them open too long. He doesn’t do anything about it, just lets a tear drip down his nose.

He can’t take his eyes off the boy in the bed.

_It had hurt._ He’d known it would, the first time. That’s what _Cosmopolitan,_ and _b-Vibe,_ and all those other sites had said. He’d been ready. Seyton had been, too. He’d had supplies. He’d worked Jeremy through it. It had been preplanned. Which was good. The advice columns said it should be planned. No spur of the moment decisions. Seyton had known, and Seyton had planned. Jeremy hadn’t, but Seyton had been ready.

And it wasn’t quite a surprise. _You wanted it._ He’d licked into Seyton’s mouth eagerly, had willingly shed his clothes. There was a little hesitation. There was… He hadn’t been _sure._ He hadn’t maybe… been ready. But…

He finally, finally drags his eyes up to Seyton’s face. The strong jaw, the full, twisting lips. Cheekbones so sharp you could kill a man. And then, of course, the eyes. Seyton’s eyes. They’re open, staring with paralyzing intensity. Laser focus in blue.

_He’s fucking gorgeous._ Seyton is fucking _gorgeous._ And Jeremy thought…

Jeremy doesn’t remember saying no. He remembers thinking it. He remembers drowning in the violent purple of Jake’s party, and thinking _don’t touch me._ But remembers drowning, in the hallway of his own house an eternity ago and begging _don’t leave me alone._ He remembers yanking his shirt off easily just a few hours ago, kissing back desperately. But he remembers drowning in electric eyes and murmuring _wait._

He remembers being kissed, being held anyway. He remembers hearing _don’t,_ and it wasn’t a question, and it definitely wasn’t a plea, it was a _don’t fight me_. He remembers giving in to that _don’t,_ giving in to the sensations on his skin, and he remembers being a _good boy_ and needing _needingneedingneeding._

He remembers feeling disgusting.

It hurts to think about. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore. He rips away his eyes from the blue that hurts like shocks up his spine, curls into the arm holding him. He needs _this._ He needs _Seyton._ He _does._ If he doesn’t have this, he’ll… Jeremy pulls his legs up in between them, ignoring how it hurts to move that entire part of his body, and then there’s a hand on his arm. Seyton pulls him back by the shoulder to look at his face.

Jeremy reacts before he can think about it. “Don’t-“

_Don’t what?_ Don’t touch him? _Too late._ He’s confused, and there are too many things about his arm, and it’s stupid and shouldn’t matter but he mutters an uncertain “Don’t _do_ that,” anyway.

The hand on his arm tightens, and Jeremy knows he has, as usual, fucked up.

“Why are you being so whiny?”

“I’m sorry,” he answers immediately. He knows, he _knows_. Jeremy’s the worst. _Disgusting, filthy, broken. Pathetic._

“You’re so _touchy_ lately. Yesterday, and last night,” says Seyton. “I’m trying to help you, and you’re always so selfish about it. It’s like you don’t care about what I’m doing for you. It’s like you don’t _love_ me.” The words are so carefully measured and cruel and Jeremy _knows_ it’s all wrong but it doesn’t help the twisting guilt. _Dirty wrong bad Jeremy._

He _loves_ Seyton, he does. _I’m always drowning. I care so much it hurts and I can never breathe right._ And Seyton knows, and asks these questions anyway, because to him, Jeremy still isn’t worth it. _Not good enough, not good enough. Disgusting._

“I wish I didn’t,” Jeremy whispers. It’s suicidal, this urge to speak up, but his stomach is churning and forcing the words out. “I wish I didn’t feel anything for you. It’s like loving a robot. You don’t have feelings. You only think of yourself, and all you ever want to do is…” _hurt me._

The hand clenched at his shoulder loosens as Seyton laughs, and Jeremy is too tired to be scared like he knows he should be.

Seyton laughs, again. “Oh, _Jeremy._ ” Here it comes. “Can we really call _you_ human? You’re barely a living person. You’re just made of electrical signals and neurotransmitting chemicals that make you move and talk. You can't really _think._ And that’s always been true, biology aside. You’re mine, everything you do is by my command. You’re practically my little toy robot. You’re so _desperate,_ so _needy,_ all the time, and you know nobody will ever love you without me. You know that, because you gave yourself up to me. You don’t think. I think for you. You have no right to complain. I’m helping you.”

And Jeremy _can’t._ He just can’t. In an instant, he’s up, scrambling away from the truth, the ugly, ugly truth. _Dirty pathetic awful._ And he can’t handle it. He isn’t sure how he does it, with this incredible weight on his chest. Everything is filth and pain. But he stands up from the bed and gets dressed. He leaves before Seyton can convince him otherwise.

When he gets home, someone is waiting for him. His dad is awake, and interrogates Jeremy in his boxer briefs. He channels his best Cool Asshole remarks, tells Dad he took a supercomputer called Squip that’s in his brain, and it talks to him, and it’s made everything better. But even he’s not a good enough asshole to stay in the house after he screams at his dad for _driving mom away_ and becoming a _human disaster._ He storms out, the second terrifying, dramatic exit in twenty minutes, and immediately doesn’t know what to do.

He has nowhere to go, without Seyton.

He tries to convince himself it’s not true by calling Brooke, but there’s no reply. He deserves that, he knows. He hurt Brooke so badly… There’s nothing he can do. _Maybe it’s better she stays away, anyway._

Jeremy can’t go back home. He walks along the road to Christine’s house, and a purple BMW pulls up alongside him.

His jaw drops. Brooke is inside, with Chloe and Sachi.

“There you are, Jeremy!” chirps Sachi, cheerful in a way that makes him freeze at the same time every part of him screams  _run_. “We’ve been looking for you.”

Then they take Jeremy away.

* * *

The first thing Rich does when he wakes up is reach for his phone. Except… he can’t? His arms don’t move. He glares at them––or, where he thinks they are, because they’re wrapped in something. Why aren’t they moving? He _thinks_ his brain is telling them to move. Maybe they can’t hear him.

“Move,” he tells his arms. They twitch. Rich grins in victory. That’s right. Full control of his limbs. Fuck yeah. But then, the arms move up and away, by themselves, and Rich becomes aware of the fact that maybe those aren’t his arms. He follows the moving limbs up to someone’s ––hey, that shirt looks familiar––and it’s Paul! Wait. Paul is… his brother? Whoa, Rich has a brother! He starts tearing up a little. He missed Paul. He missed having a brother. His life is so _good._

Why’s Paul in his room? Wait. This is not his room. Rich looks around a little, and sees white walls and a really big window. Hey, the sun’s out! Entranced, he watches a little floaty speck drift in the air. He can’t tell if it’s just dust or a fairy because it’s too hard to see. It darts to the left every time he blinks. He wants to touch it, but he still can’t seem to find his arms. Or his _legs._ Oh, and someone’s talking. Paul? Paul! Paul is talking.

Rich wonders if he might maybe be a little high.

Oh, yeah he was wondering why they were in… white walls. There’s a beepy boy to his right. A heart monitor? Paul is still talking. “Whoa, is this a hospital?” Rich blurts, but it comes out slurred.

His brother sighs. He seems worried, which doesn’t really make sense to Rich. Rich feels more like himself than he’s felt for the past few years.

“Rich, they have you drugged for the pain, but I didn’t know it’d be this bad.”

That makes so much sense. “Oh, I’m high as _balls._ ” Rich giggles madly. Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit. Sachi would never have let him say that. He’s finally _free._ “What did they do to me? I can _think._ ”

Paul looks uncomfortable, then mad, then resigned. It’s far outside his emotional range from the usual stoic expressions Rich sees. He startles, sobering up a little. How long has he been under Sachi’s hand, that he can’t remember the last time he’d really seen Paul? Seen his face?

He doesn’t have long to wonder. Paul starts talking. “Your… friends. From the party. Stopped by the house and told me I needed to be here. You’re being targeted. And they told me to give you, uh, Mountain Dew Red.” Looking grim, Paul explains. “They had it to counteract the drug your girlfriend gave you.”

He really is free. Holy shit. “Rich-“ Paul starts, but then he must see Rich’s face or something because then he’s hugging him. He’s free. And also, the drugs are wearing off.

“Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.” Paul’s not getting off. He shoves his brother off, lovingly.

“You…” Blinking, Paul starts again. “You haven’t looked like that. In a long time.”

_Like me,_ Rich knows.

They take a minute, two guys swallowing down tears and looking away manfully when Rich remembers that he’s sick of Cool Kid Points and there’s nobody keeping score. He lunges armlessly across the bed to hug his brother, and Paul cries into his aching shoulder while Rich cries on him.

Finally, Paul pulls back, coughing and wiping his eyes. God, his brother is such an ugly crier. Rich fucking loves him.

“Oh, yeah. Uh, your party friends also said there are a lot of rumors spreading about who started the fire. Your name is up there, and your phone is blowing up. I wouldn’t check it,” says Paul, giving him a serious look.

He nods back, glancing at his bandages and then making a very conscious decision to not think about that or school right now.

“Do these party friends have names?” Rich can’t think of a single person nice enough to help the asshole he’d been with Sachi.

“They didn’t tell me, for safety reasons. They said they’re taking care of the squip situation. But they’re doing it covertly. Oh, and there’s one more thing they told me to tell you.”

Rich listens.

* * *

**November 1st, 11:28 AM**  
 **Sunday**  
_**Sugar Bowl Ice Cream Parlor** _

On Sunday, things are normal again. _Nothing about you is normal._ Jeremy has a nervous breakdown from all the notifications in the post-fire social media rush. Seyton disables screen notifications while Jeremy waits in line for ice cream at the local parlor. _Normal._ Jeremy pays for Seyton’s treat to him with Chloe’s credit card, because that is their normal. Carefully, he ferries the two cones back to the table. One is vanilla, the other mint chocolate chip. It’s all normal.

Seyton doesn’t look up from Jeremy’s phone when he hands over the vanilla cone. Jeremy accepts that ( _normal_ ), and starts on his own cone.

“Hm. Rich finally woke up in the hospital,” Seyton drawls, taking a moment to eat some of his ice cream. He seems lost in thought, even as his tongue traces tantalizing lines across the creamy white dessert. Jeremy does his best to stop watching it, stifling the cocktail of guilt and disgust that rolls in his stomach.

_Rich. Focus on Rich._ “Can we go see him?”

Electric blue eyes come into focus on him, and Jeremy’s heart stutters. His boyfriend smirks as mint ice cream drips down his shaking white fingers.

After a suitably dramatic pause spent watching Jeremy continue to make a fool of himself with his ice cream, Seyton agrees. “Yes. I think we should.”

“Can- can I-“ His boyfriend gives him a look. _Stop stuttering, you freak._

“Can I have my phone back?” Jeremy asks, meekly.

One eyebrow goes up in response. “Can you handle it?”

Eyes lowered, he sits in silence. He has nothing to say to that. They both know Jeremy is _pathetic._

Instead of his phone, Seyton slides across another green bottle. Without prompting, Jeremy drinks. He tries his hardest to keep his breathing even. He was already scolded for that earlier this morning.

Seyton takes his hand and they leave the store, and Jeremy tries not to think about the next part. They slide into the car. Jeremy tries to calm his breathing. Seyton takes Jeremy’s chin, turning his face toward him, and Jeremy closes his eyes tight. Seyton leans forward, then pauses before their lips meet.

“Jeremy, what the fuck is wrong with you?” _He’s angry._ Fuck. _Not good enough._ _He saw you._

Before Jeremy even knows what’s wrong, apologies start spilling out. His boyfriend is glaring from the driver’s seat. _Fuckup._

“Why do you always make me out to be the villain? I take you out for ice cream after a fantastic night in bed, and now you won’t even kiss me. I even let your little meltdown slide,” Seyton rants, starting up the car and pulling out of the parking lot.

Jeremy’s toes clench, fingers twisting in the clothes he borrowed after last night. He sits in silence, desperately trying to find some way to fix it. _He can’t be mad. Don’t make him mad. Fix it, you’re disgusting he’s going to leave fix it-_

The car pulls to a stop in the hospital parking lot, and Jeremy jumps into Seyton’s lap. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, diving in for a kiss.

_He’s going to leave, he can’t leave I needneedneed him-_ Seyton pulls him back, studying carefully.

“Please don’t be mad,” Jeremy begs. Laser blue hardens, and then they’re kissing again. Strong hands find his hips and slam them down where he straddles the other boy, so that they’re grinding together. A jolt of fear spears through his brain— _someone could see us, we’re going to get in trouble, not again no more don’t touch me—_ but it’s quickly drowned out by that ever persistent tide of _not good enough don’t leave be normal._

They never make it inside the hospital. Sachi knocks on the window five minutes later, and Jeremy nearly has a heart attack. He clambers back into the passenger seat, sweaty and still out of breath while Seyton and Sachi have a conversation in increasingly irritated voices.

Tipping his head back against the seat, Jeremy wishes for death. _Disgusting. Whore. Pathetic._ He had been about to…

He turns his head toward the passenger window and breathes in the defeat. 

Sachi’s angry murmur carries over to his seat. “He’s pretending he has amnesia. I know when he’s lying to me. He got out, somehow.” _Rich._

_Got out. What does that mean,_ he wonders, quietly.

_How did he do it?_ an even quieter part of Jeremy wonders.

“Did you try to get him under again?”

He can hear the aggravation in her voice when she replies “Yes. He threw up on my shoes and got me kicked out for bringing food into the hospital.”

“Hm. We’ll have to take more aggressive measures, then,” says Seyton, much more calmly. “But if his brother is there, like you said…” Sachi coughs meaningfully, and he doesn’t finish that sentence. _They know I’m listening._

Jeremy tries not to scream when his shoulder is grabbed again. “Change of plans, Jeremy. Rich is not well enough to see us today. I’ll take you home,” Seyton announces.

Nodding dumbly, he tries to ignore Sachi’s stare. The drive home is quick, and quiet. His boyfriend seems to be planning something, but Jeremy can only think about Rich. When they finally pull into his driveway, a bruising grip on his wrist stops him from leaving the car. _Stop hurting me,_ he wants to say, but the voice screaming _don’t leave_ is louder.

Seyton raises an eyebrow, and Jeremy leans in for the obligatory kiss. “I love you,” he says, and means it, and wants to die.

“I’ll come pick you up at 7 tonight.” _Not a question._ Jeremy will be there. Seyton smirks, and then “Love you,” pause, “ _babe._ ”

Jeremy nods and goes upstairs, choking on tears. _Why does everything hurt? Why am I so pathetic? Disgusting, worthless…_

He’s still wallowing by the time he gets upstairs to his bedroom. There’s nothing really left to do. He has time to kill, zero motivation, and the self loathing sits low in his gut like it always does.

Jeremy opens YouTube.

A couple of hours later finds Jeremy Heere deep down the vine compilation rabbit hole. He lands on one titled “vines that mourn in my chili fires,” and is too busy squinting at the typo in the title to notice anything amiss when the video starts.

Rich’s voice quickly jolts him into attention. “Hey,” sings Richard Goranski, wrapped in bandages. “How ya doin’? Well I’m doin’ just fine, I lied, I’m dying inside…” Jeremy stares in horror as little flames dance up and down the ukulele strings but the vine is over before he can help.

Instead, Brooke appears in the next vine, and he flinches. “What the FUCK is up Kyle?” she demands. “No, what did you say? What the FUCK dude. Step the FUCK up, Kyle,” and he swears she’s looking straight into his soul.

Christine steps up behind Brooke, “Dad, look, it’s the good kush!”

Brooke sneers in a very un-Brooke-like manner, and says “We’re at the dollar store, how good can it be,” and Jeremy is so fucking sorry, he _is_ the subpar kush, _Brooke I’m sorry I-_

And Michael’s name is blinking on his phone, it’s a voicemail. “And I love you, and I miss you, hnnuuuuuuuuuu,” and Jeremy wants to call him back _I miss you, I miss you_ , but now Michael’s in a car, vrooming away to the sound of his despair. The vines are too fast, and he’s so confused, he can’t catch up and next is Seyton and he’s screaming “this is why mom dOESN’T FUCKING LOVE YOU,” and he’s right, this is why Jeremy’s mom doesn’t love him, but he can’t keep up with the vines. They keep rolling, this time with faces from his English class, popping up.

“Happy Crimas…” Jake?

“Iz crismun…” Rich, again, but now the fire on his ukulele has gone out.

“Merry crisis!” Sachi, and boy does Jeremy feel like a crisis.

“Merry chrysler,” finishes Jenna, grinning.

“Hey Tara you want some?” Sachi reaches out to Rich with a green bottle, and the _no_ dies on Jeremy’s lips just as Rich takes it, and goes “This bitch _empty_. YEET!” He promptly yeets it into the void, leaving Jeremy shaking.

Then Chloe points at Rich, laughing, and Jeremy thinks _well, at least someone’s still in character._ “Say Colorado,” she singsongs, and Seyton races in, screaming “I’M A GIRAFFE!” Jeremy shivers, confused and sad, and Michael returns.

Adjusting his glasses, he speaks directly to a wall. “My name is Michael with a B, and I’ve been afraid of bugs my whole life-“

“Wait, where?” says the wall.

“What,” Michael replies, still speaking directly to the wall. Jeremy misses him so bad.

“Where’s the B?” _Where’s the Michael,_ he wants to howl, but Michael is jumping back and dissolving into mist, “There’s a bee?”

And then there’s a hand gripping his arm, like there always is when his life is crumbling around him. Seyton is shaking him, telling him he needs to wake up, they’ll be late, and Jeremy somehow yells without even opening his mouth “How do you know what’s good for me?”

“THAT’S MY OPINION,” screeches his boyfriend, and Jeremy jolts awake.

Seyton is standing over him, shaking his shoulder. Disoriented, he rolls over and bangs his elbow on his computer. _Oh. I fell asleep watching a vine compilation, that’s all._ Jeremy is already the stupidest person alive, but his asleep brain is apparently even worse. _It wasn’t real._

“Jeremy, we’re going to be late to meet the others,” Seyton says, and Jeremy has to take a moment to remember that this is the awake world and his boyfriend did not just scream about his opinions, or giraffes, or Jeremy’s mom. This is the real Neo.

“The real Farto Reeves,” mumbles Jeremy, still blinking sleepily. Seyton’s grip on his shoulder tightens, and he knows he’s got to wake up a lot more in the next five seconds or he’s going to wake up to pain for the next few days.

“Sorry,” he mutters, standing up and picking his phone off the floor. He shakes his head, brushes off the uneasiness of Seyton coming into his room while he was asleep. Seyton follows, quickly overtaking him with his longer strides so that he can lead the way.

Jeremy keeps following, studiously ignoring his churning gut. Everything is fine, and good, and chill. Everything is _normal._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i know last time i said this would be happier and i 100% meant for it to be happier but that's not realistic now so instead you get hysterical dream angst, and the beginning of rich goranski's recovery. i really like dreams because on the one hand your brain is like HEY LOOK IM SCARED OF THIS and on the other hand your brain is like on fucking drugs bro none of this shit makes sense or is realistic because your brain is being such a dramatic bitch but its still scary and a manifestation of things you're scared about. let me know if this came across, please, this was definitely a struggle to figure out.
> 
> okay and now a note on jeremy. i know i say this a lot, but this relationship isn't healthy. if anyone does the things seyton does to jeremy to you? that's not okay. You deserve to be treated so much better. Seyton is belittling, controlling, purposely ignores Jeremy's boundaries, and physically harms Jeremy. You deserve to be treated with respect and to be kept safe. If you are pressured into a situation like Jeremy is, it is not your fault. You are not to blame. And having sex is ok, but you should never feel pressured the way Jeremy is here. Please get help.
> 
> Thank you for your comments, your support means a lot to me guys. Stay safe and take care of yourselves, love you all!!


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